


The Body In The Bedroom

by telperion_15



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Background Het, Big Bang Challenge, Character Death (but nobody we like!), Charles Is a Darling, Developing Relationship, Drama, Emotionally Crippled Erik Is Fun To Read, F/M, First Time, Forbidden Love, M/M, Minor Violence, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 09:22:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 71,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telperion_15/pseuds/telperion_15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Autumn, 1909 – Viscount Charles Xavier has invited friends and acquaintances to spend the weekend, hoping for good company and interesting conversation.  But he doesn’t bank on murder being committed under his roof, nor his growing interest in the enigmatic Erik Lehnsherr…</p><p>In which there is a country house party (what else?), murder most foul (of course), and almost everyone’s a suspect (naturally).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 - Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the xmenbigbang on LJ.
> 
> Huge, enormous thanks to my artist, Elsian, for the amazing art she's created for this monster of a story. You can see it [here](http://elsian.livejournal.com/718.html) (or [here](http://elsian.tumblr.com/post/41223991851/the-body-in-the-bedroom-by-telperion-15-elsian%0A) on Tumblr), and it's wonderful! She was truly a pleasure to work with :)
> 
> And I must also thank Luninosity for her invaluable beta help - any remaing mistakes are, naturally, all my own!
> 
> Now, here's hoping the plot stands up to scrutiny by other people! (Murder mysteries are hard to construct, don't you know?). This is the longest fic I've ever written, and I've never worked as hard on anything as I have on this, so I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Charles was allowed less than quarter of an hour alone before Raven knocked on the library door and entered without waiting for a summons.

“I thought I heard the motor,” she said. “How was London?”

Charles gave her a weary smile. “It was…London-ish,” he replied.

Raven smiled back – she knew well Charles’ opinions on the big city. “And your business? Did it go well?”

“About as well as anything that involves lawyers and accountants can be expected to go. Fear not, though, sister dear, they haven’t taken it all away from us yet. I can still keep you in the manner to which you are accustomed.”

The joke fell rather flat, however, as Charles had to fight to smother a yawn on the final words. Raven sighed at him. “You look tired,” she said.

“I _am_ tired,” Charles told her. “Somehow London always makes me so, even though I wasn’t doing anything especially strenuous.”

“Well, you’re home now, and I think you should go to bed. It may be early still, but you look like you need some sleep.”

“I will,” Charles promised. “Soon. My head is still a little full of numbers and legal nonsense to allow me to sleep easily yet.”

“Very well. At least let me ring for some refreshment, though. I know you, Charles, and I suspect I wouldn’t _like_ to know when the last time you ate was.”

She rang the bell before Charles could object, and upon reflection he realised that perhaps he didn’t want to. Raven’s words had brought his hunger to his attention, and he decided that something to eat might be welcome after all.

Raven, it seemed, had divined his train of thought, She gave him a rather triumphant look, and sat down in the chair on the other side of Charles’ desk, curling her feet under her in a way she would never be able to do in other circumstances.

“So, did you see anyone in London?” she asked, clearly determined to keep him company – probably to make sure he did in fact eat something, Charles thought ruefully. “Apart from lawyers and accountants, that is?”

Ah yes. Charles shifted uncomfortably in his own chair, aware that he had something to confess to his sister. Something that he knew wouldn’t please her.

“I did, as a matter of fact,” he began warily. “And I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Raven’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as she looked at him. “What kind of bad news? _Who_ exactly did you meet and what have you done?”

“I’ve, er, well, I’ve invited Alex Summers and Sean Cassidy to our party next month,” Charles said quickly.

“Oh, _Charles_.”

“They’re my friends,” he defended himself. “And they’re not bad sorts, really.”

“But they’re so…exuberant,” Raven said, sighing. “I trust you remember last Christmas?”

“They’ve matured since then,” Charles protested, perhaps not entirely truthfully. “I’m sure they’ll be on their best behaviour. And besides,” he added, “weren’t you saying just last week that you thought I was becoming too stuffy and boring? I certainly can’t be either of those things around Alex and Sean.”

“Yes, those are not words one could use to describe them,” Raven conceded. She sighed again. “Very well, I’ll tell Mrs Spriggs that we will be expecting two more guests that weekend.”

“Would you? Thank you, darling.” He’d never admit it, but Charles was a little scared of Mrs Spriggs, their rather formidable housekeeper, and never more so than when he was causing the kind of trouble that meant significant changes to her routine and plans. Which seemed to happen somewhat more often than either of them would like.

“I suppose it could have been worse,” Raven said. “I’m sure we can handle Alex Summers and Sean Cassidy.”

Charles cleared his throat, suddenly wishing he were anywhere but here. Raven instantly fixed him with a look rather reminiscent of Mrs Spriggs in one of her more exasperated moods.

“What is it?”

“Alex and Sean aren’t actually the bad news,” Charles admitted. He took a deep breath. “I also met Sebastian Shaw while I was in London…”

“Oh _no_ …”

“…and invited him and his family to the party as well,” Charles finished in a rush. He contemplated the distance from his desk to the door, wondering if he could make a dash for it while Raven was still absorbing his words.

No such luck, of course.

“How _could_ you, Charles?”

“I think he wants to get to know his neighbours better,” Charles tried. “He seems very eager to fit in.”

“Of course he is,” Raven said scathingly. “He knows he’s not one of us, but he desperately wants to be.”

“I didn’t think you were such a snob about these things,” Charles said, and then quailed under Raven’s renewed glare.

“I’m not, as you very well know. But you can’t possibly be telling me that you actually _want_ him here, for nearly three whole days?”

“Well, perhaps not…”

“So _why_ did you invite him?”

“I don’t know,” Charles said. “I really _don’t_ know how it happened, Raven. One moment we were talking about our plans for the autumn, the next I’d apparently invited him to stay for the weekend.”

Raven shook her head despairingly. “I suppose there’s no chance you could rescind the invitation?” she said.

“Not without looking impossibly rude, no. And, as I said, he is our neighbour – it would be better if we were all on friendly terms.”

“Couldn’t we just invite him for dinner one evening during the party?” Raven asked. “Surely he doesn’t need to be here the whole time. He only lives three miles away, for heaven’s sake – it’s not as if it’s going to be much of a change of scenery for him.”

“He seemed to be rather looking forward to taking part in the traditional weekend house party,” Charles said. “One way of fitting in, I suppose.”

“There really is no way we can get out of this politely, is there?” Raven said, apparently finally resigning herself to their fate.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Charles replied. “I really am very sorry. It was not my intention to spoil our party, you must know that.”

Raven sighed. “I know. And I also know that you probably _want_ to help him fit in. You’re too nice for your own good sometimes.”

“Thank you…I think.”

“I suppose by ‘family’, that means Mr Shaw’s wife, and his ward, Miss Salvadore,” Raven said. “I’ll have to tell Mrs Spriggs we’re expecting five extra people instead of only two.”

“Er, it’s six, actually.”

“I beg your pardon? Who _else_ have you invited?”

“No one,” said Charles hastily. “That is to say, it won’t just be Mr and Mrs Shaw and Miss Salvadore in their group. They’ll also be bringing Shaw’s nephew, Mr Lehnsherr.”

“Mr Lehnsherr?” Raven’s eyebrows rose. “ _The_ Mr Lehnsherr? The Mr Lehnsherr that all the girls in the neighbourhood have been entertaining wild romantic fancies about ever since they learned of his existence?”

“The very one,” Charles replied, smiling. “Although I seem to recall you’ve entertained a few ‘wild fancies’ about him yourself.”

“It wouldn’t do not to join in,” said Raven dismissively. “And you can’t deny that the man _is_ something of a mystery. If Mr Shaw won’t tell us anything about him, what else are we to do but fill in the details ourselves?”

“Just so long as Mr Lehnsherr doesn’t hear any of the details when he arrives,” Charles warned her. “It won’t do to frighten the poor man away before he’s even got to know us. He’ll think we’re a group of mad fantasists.”

“Of course not,” said Raven. “But I must admit that I am very much looking forward to meeting him. And I think you are too, Charles.”

“I’m sure he will be a very amiable guest,” said Charles blandly, although he knew he hadn’t fooled Raven. Then he smirked slightly at her. “So, does this mean I am forgiven for inviting the Shaws, since they will be bringing someone so interesting?”

Raven narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Perhaps. I shall have to consider it some more.”

“But you will still speak to Mrs Spriggs…” Charles suggested hopefully.

“Yes, brother dear, I will speak to Mrs Spriggs. Although one of these days you will have to work up the courage to speak to her yourself about this kind of thing.”

“I will, I promise,” Charles said. Then, after a short hesitation, he added, “Just not quite yet.”

Raven laughed at him, and Charles smiled sheepishly. Still, privately he couldn’t help thinking he had carried all that off rather successfully. He had delivered his bad news, and had emerged relatively unscathed from the incident.

Now all he had to do was hope the party went as well.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m afraid my travelling days are well and truly over, Armando,” said Charles. “Being Lord Xavier doesn’t leave much time for such frivolities.”

Armando smiled at his woeful words, although there was a trace of a frown about his brow. “But I thought I understood from your letters that you had taken Raven to France earlier in the year?”

“For two weeks,” Charles replied. “A mere holiday, nothing more. Perhaps I could spare maybe a month to visit some exotic destination, but extended jaunts around Europe and beyond are a thing of the past. I am no longer at liberty to indulge my wanderlust.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Nonsense, Charles,” said Raven. “You shouldn’t take so much on to yourself. Don’t you have confidence in your staff – or me, for that matter? Don’t you think I could keep the estate running in your absence? Particularly with Moira to help me?”

“Ah yes, I believe Moira could run the world if she so chose,” Charles said. “Despite your interference, dear sister,” he added impishly, winking at Raven, who rolled her eyes back at him.

Armando laughed again. “I think I must offer my support to the lady,” he said. “I’m sure you would do an admirable job of running the estate, Miss Xavier,” he told Raven. “With or without Miss MacTaggert’s help.”

“Thank you, Mr Muñoz,” Raven replied. “It is nice to know _someone_ has faith in me.”

Charles was on the verge of protesting his own faith in Raven (although he thought he could detect the sly twinkle in her eye that indicated she was teasing him), when the door to the drawing room was opened, and Moira MacTaggert entered, accompanied by a tall young man who looked happy and nervous in equal parts.

“Good afternoon, everyone. Charles, I discovered Mr McCoy handing his coat to Randall in the hall, and offered to escort him in,” said Moira, smiling and ushering the young man forward. Some might have raised an eyebrow at the familiarity Moira demonstrated towards her former employer, but both Charles and Raven had considered her quite a member of the family even before she had stopped being Raven’s governess and instead become her companion and confidante. It had taken Moira a little longer to adjust to the situation, but now they rubbed along together quite happily.

“Henry, my dear chap!” said Charles, stepping forward eagerly to shake hands. “It seems like such a long time since we’ve seen each other. Welcome!”

“Thank you, Charles,” replied Henry. “It’s good to see you again. And you, of course, Miss Xavier,” he continued, as Charles led him over to where Raven had risen from the sofa. Raven’s cheeks were rather pink as she greeted Henry, and indeed, Charles was amused to see that Henry’s were scarcely less flushed.

“You’ve met Mr Muñoz before, I think,” Charles said, taking pity on the two of them and giving them a chance to recover themselves.

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Henry. “In London, as I recall, last winter.”

“You are correct,” said Armando. “Very happy to see you again, Mr McCoy.”

“I believe congratulations are in order, Henry,” said Charles, and them smiled at Henry’s confused look. The man was too modest by half. “Henry here,” Charles told Raven, Moira and Armando, “has recently qualified as a medical doctor. An outstanding achievement, I think you’ll agree.”

“Oh, yes, that,” Henry mumbled, blushing again as everyone else congratulated him. Raven and Moira already knew, of course – Henry had told Charles the news in a recent letter and Charles had passed it along – but Charles could see that Raven was happy to be able to offer her congratulations to Henry in person.

“Well done, Mr McCoy,” Armando was saying. “That must have taken a lot of work on your part.”

“Several years, yes,” Henry replied, managing to make it sound like it was nothing at all.

“Henry and I began university in the same year,” Charles elaborated on his behalf. “But while I left before I probably should have done to go jollying around the world with a certain American acquaintance, Henry applied himself much more vigorously and now has something to show for it.”

“Now, Charles, you know you always meant to go back after you had satisfied your itchy feet,” Raven said, apparently defending him from himself.

“I did,” he nonetheless agreed. “Unfortunately, the circumstances did not allow it, in the end.”

Charles had very much enjoyed university, but Raven’s assessment of his ‘itchy feet’ was correct, and at the end of two years he had been unable to resist the lure of foreign climes any more, and had taken himself off to Europe. Luckily, his parents had been of an indulgent nature, and had been happy enough for their son to reward himself for his hard study.

It was on these travels that Charles had met Armando, and the two had quickly struck up a friendship that had seen them through France, Germany, Austria, Switzerland and Italy. From there, Armando had suggested they take in the ancient sites of Greece and Egypt, and had then managed to persuade Charles to accompany him back to America, eager to show his new friend his homeland (Raven had been rather upset that Charles had crossed the Atlantic without her, and he still wasn’t sure whether she had entirely forgiven him).

Eventually, however, he had found himself wanting to return to England, to spend some time with his family before taking up his studies once more, his ambitions of devoting himself to the sciences rekindled.

However, not long after he had come home, his father had been involved in an accident, falling from his horse when the animal had startled at a sudden flight of birds, of all things. His injuries too severe for recovery, he had only lingered for a day or two before dying. Charles’ mother’s grief had been such that she had been taken ill, and had also never recovered.

Therefore Charles and Raven had lost both of their parents within a month of each other, and at the tender age of twenty-four Charles had come into his inheritance and become Lord Xavier, with a list of duties and responsibilities that left little time for studying. Or, indeed, further travelling, as he had told Armando.

The expressions on everyone’s faces showed that they followed Charles’ reasoning perfectly well, and Raven silently reached out and caught hold of Charles’ hand. Three years was not enough to entirely draw a veil over their grief, as it turned out, but Charles had long ago decided not to let it overwhelm him. There was too much of life left to live for that.

So he squeezed Raven’s hand only briefly, before disentangling them and summoning up a smile.

“Well now, aren’t we suddenly a melancholy bunch,” he said. “This won’t do at all. I am determined that everyone should have a lovely weekend, and this is no way to begin it.”

His pointed cheerfulness roused everyone from their shared gloom, and Henry asked, “We are not all here yet though, I believe. You said something in your last letter about having invited one of the local families too?”

“Oh yes, the Shaws,” said Raven witheringly, before Charles could answer. “Charles and I have already had words on the subject, but he refused to retract the invitation.”

“Now, Raven, you know that would have been the height of rudeness,” Charles protested.

“But _you_ know you’d rather they weren’t coming,” Raven retorted in exasperation.

“I have no doubt they’ll prove an interesting addition to the party,” Charles said to Henry, avoiding answering his sister.

Raven’s unladylike snort of derision came at the same moment as a knock at the door, and then Randall, the Xaviers’ butler, entered the room.

“My lord, I believe the Shaws are arriving. George has just informed me that he has spotted two cars approaching from the breakfast room window.”

“There now, by talking about them we have made them appear,” said Raven.

“Don’t be silly, Raven,” Moira admonished her. “They would have come whether we were speaking of them or not, you know that perfectly well.”

“I shall come out to greet them,” Charles told Randall. “Somehow I suspect Mr Shaw will expect that.”

“Perhaps we should all go,” said Raven sarcastically. “And form a proper welcoming committee.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary, sister dear,” replied Charles. “Wait patiently here. You’ll get your chance to greet the Shaws soon enough.”

He didn’t wait for a further response, but accompanied Randall back out into the hall, and then waited in the shelter of the foyer as the butler opened the front door, giving them both a view of the main sweep of the drive as it crossed the parkland and then curled around in front of the house.

George had not been mistaken when he’d mentioned two cars, Charles quickly realised. There were indeed two vehicles approaching down the drive, travelling in obvious convoy. The first was an enclosed limousine, large enough to hold several passengers apart from the chauffeur and the rather bedraggled-looking maid in the front seat, and with gleaming bodywork that spoke of no expense spared.

The second car was smaller and uncovered, the two people in it exposed to the crisp autumn afternoon. Still, it was also clearly new, and not inexpensive.

Charles stood just inside the door, rubbing his hands together to keep them from getting cold in the draught, until the first car had come to halt right at the foot of the steps leading down from the porch, the second one stopping just behind it. Then he made his way outside as the first car’s chauffeur hopped from his seat and hurried round to open the rear door of the vehicle.

The first person to emerge was a tall man, with a bearing that had all the appearance of being aristocratic, but which Charles knew was really nothing of the sort. Behind him came two women, one almost of a height with the man and wearing a haughty expression, and a smaller one who seemed to determined to keep her eyes fixed on the floor even when she had climbed from the car.

“Mr Shaw, welcome to Xavier Hall,” Charles said, extending a hand that was caught and shaken most vigorously by Sebastian Shaw, for he it was.

“Thank you,” Shaw replied. “Very happy to be here, of course. I must express my gratitude once again for the invitation.”

“Not at all,” said Charles. “I always like to get to know my neighbours. And really, a party is not a party without a sufficient number of people.”

He cringed inwardly as the inadvertent insult escaped him – implying that the Shaws were only here to make up the numbers was not the welcome he had intended.

However, Shaw appeared not to have noticed. Instead he just smiled, and then turned to usher forward the two women behind him. “I am sure you remember my wife, Emma?”

“Of course. Lovely to see you again, Mrs Shaw.”

Emma Shaw merely nodded at him coolly, her supercilious expression not altering in the slightest.

“And my ward, Miss Salvadore?”

“Delighted, Miss Salvadore,” said Charles. He smiled at her, but she just looked even more nervous, and barely even lifted her eyes to Charles’ face.

“I don’t think you know my nephew, though,” Shaw continued. “Step forward, Erik, and meet Lord Xavier.”

One of the men from the second car, whom Charles had almost taken to be a second chauffeur (as, after all, someone who owned two cars would think nothing of having two chauffeurs to go with them, he was sure), came forward, pushing a pair of motoring goggles up on to his forehead at the same time as grasping Charles’ re-extended hand.

“Erik Lehnsherr, how do you do?” the man said. His handshake was firm, but not as enthusiastic as Shaw’s.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr Lehnsherr,” said Charles, nothing but sincere. “Welcome to my home.”

“Thank you,” replied Lehnsherr, letting go of Charles’ hand. Charles immediately missed the warmth of his grip as the cold air nipped at his fingers.

Speaking of which…

“Now, I shan’t keep you all standing around out here in the cold any longer,” he said quickly, although really it was Shaw’s insistence on performing introductions that had kept them outside. “Randall, if you will lead the way, we can get back into the warm.”

Mrs Shaw and Miss Salvadore seized on the suggestion with alacrity, hurrying up the steps to the front door as fast as was ladylike. Shaw, however, had turned back to the cars, imparting instructions to his chauffeur, the maid and the second man from the car his nephew had been driving.

“Hobbs, take the car around and park it, and then help Quested and Smith with the luggage. And be _careful_ with it, all of you. My wife’s things are delicate, as you well know.”

The chauffeur doffed his cap, already back in the driving seat of limousine next to the maid Smith. The man Quested, however, looked a little uncertain. “Sir, the second car…?” he murmured deferentially, as if worried that he would be reprimanded for speaking out of turn.

The problem was obvious, and Shaw himself looked unsure for a moment, before his features cleared and he turned to his nephew. “Erik, perhaps you would be so kind as to…”

“I would be happy to have my chauffeur Archer come round and take care of the second car,” Charles jumped in, before Shaw could finish his request. “Then Mr Lehnsherr may come inside and get warm also. That is, if you are happy to allow a stranger behind the wheel of one of your vehicles, Mr Shaw,” he added quickly.

“Of course, of course,” said Shaw, nodding. “A perfect solution. Although I trust your man will be most careful. I prize my vehicles highly, and would not want any harm, to come to them. They’re both top of the range, you know. Daimlers, of course. Nothing but the best for me, I’m afraid.”

“We favour a Wolseley, ourselves,” replied Charles, a trifle unwillingly. Although he had come to appreciate the practicality and usefulness of owning a car, in truth he was still somewhat ambivalent about them, and it was not a subject he could expound on with any great knowledge or enthusiasm.

“Ah yes, I believe I recall Hobbs mentioning that he’d looked your one over, when you came for dinner in the summer,” Shaw said. “He mentioned that it was a very neat and tidy model, sure to be very…economical.”

Charles suspected those were not qualities Shaw would look for in a motorcar, if the man’s tone was anything to go by, but if Shaw was hoping for a debate on the subject, he was going to be sadly disappointed.

“It does the job, we find,” Charles said. “Now, shall we go in and join the ladies?”

He led the way up the steps, catching sight of a faintly enigmatic smile that graced Lehnsherr’s features as Charles glanced at him. Charles couldn’t decide if the emotion he saw there was amusement or approval. Both options made him feel slightly uncomfortable.

“Quested, stay with the car until Lord Xavier’s man arrives,” was Shaw’s parting instruction, and then he hurried up the steps likewise.

Inside the hall, they found the ladies divesting themselves of their outer garments, and Charles courteously waited while the gentlemen did the same. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Lehnsherr smoothing a hand across his hair, attempting to settle it back into place after it had been ruffled by the removal of his goggles.

“Perhaps you would like to freshen up before joining the others for tea?” Charles asked the group. “Randall can show you to your rooms, and I am sure you will find everything you need there until your luggage is brought up.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” replied Shaw, before anyone else could express an opinion. “The journey was short, after all – there was hardly time to be affected by any discomfort, or any of the grime of the road. Besides, it would be rude not to introduce ourselves to the rest of your guests immediately.”

Emma Shaw looked as if she disagreed thoroughly with her husband’s assessment of the journey, while Lehnsherr had turned a sharp eye on Charles, almost as if he was aware of exactly from what Charles’ offer had stemmed. But neither of them raised any vocal objections, and Charles was forced to nod to Shaw, and then move in the direction of the drawing room.

The room’s occupants looked up as soon as Charles entered, their expressions by turns apprehensive, friendly and resigned. Charles noticed immediately that George had now brought the tea in, and was silently relieved. He was already feeling in dire need of refreshment, and the Shaws had only just arrived. Not that he’d ever admit as much to Raven, of course.

“Shall I perform the introductions?” he said, and then proceeded to do so as rapidly as politeness allowed. He was unable to avoid seeing the hastily covered surprise on Shaw’s face – as well as the less successfully disguised disdain on Emma Shaw’s – when both Armando and Moira were introduced, nor the way Raven’s eyes swept quickly but assessingly over Lehnsherr before she bestowed a friendly smile on him (Lehnsherr himself betrayed no opinion on anyone beyond a polite nod to all parties). Charles only hoped that the objects of these reactions hadn’t noticed them, but he suspected such a hope was in vain.

“Now, please do all avail yourselves of the refreshments. We are still waiting for the last two members of our party, but unfortunately I can almost certainly guarantee their lateness, so we won’t wait for them. In fact, we shall have to count ourselves lucky if they turn up in time for dinner.”

“I take it you are referring to Mr Summers and Mr Cassidy?” Henry asked quietly, as there was a general move towards the tea table, subjecting poor George to a sudden rush.

“Yes, I am. I despair of them sometimes, but they are good lads, and will certainly make the weekend somewhat more lively.”

“They could at least have the good manners to arrive on time, though,” said Raven, who had also not yet joined the queue for tea. “I’m still not sure why you invited them, Charles.”

“Because they are my friends,” Charles replied patiently. “My sister would prefer it if the party was much smaller,” he told Henry. “So small, in fact, that we would barely _be_ a party.”

“I think five is a perfectly suitable number for a party, Charles,” Raven said.

“Five, Miss Xavier?” questioned Henry. “And who would you include in this group, might I ask?”

“Myself and Charles and Moira, naturally.” Raven ticked off people on her fingers as she spoke. “Mr Muñoz too. And you, of course, Mr McCoy.” She gave Henry a small smile, and Henry looked bashfully pleased.

“Raven, do please keep your voice down a little,” Charles implored. “If any of our other guests were to hear you, they would be dreadfully offended.”

Raven’s glance flickered over the people she had so far left out of her listing. “Well, perhaps Mr Lehnsherr may stay,” she said eventually. “I believe he may fit in here rather well.”

“I can’t imagine how you could make such an assessment based on less than five minutes’ acquaintance,” Charles said.

“I cannot win, it seems,” Raven said to Henry. “First I am criticised for rejecting people, and now for including them. Come, perhaps you would escort me to the tea table, Mr McCoy, and we will leave my brother to his contrariness.”

Henry gave Charles a sheepish look, and then took Raven’s arm to lead her away. Charles smiled after them with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, and then startled slightly as Randall appeared almost silently beside him, proffering a teacup.

“I took the liberty, my lord,” the butler said. “A splash of milk and one sugar, as usual.”

“Thank you, Randall, you’re a godsend, you really are,” said Charles, taking the cup gratefully. He was a staunch believer in the restorative properties of a cup of tea, and first sip almost made him sigh aloud with relief.

Over the rim of his teacup, he surveyed the room, happy to see that, however much she might have wanted to remain with Henry, Raven was doing her duty and had carried her own tea over to the sofa where Emma Shaw and Miss Salvadore had seated themselves, to engage them in conversation.

Henry was now talking to Armando again, although unable to quite suppress the impulse to glance towards Raven every so often. Charles vowed to find some way to ensure that his sister and his friend could spend some more time together during the weekend, without the distractions necessitated by Raven’s obligations as hostess. Perhaps it wasn’t quite the done thing to allow one’s unmarried sister to associate with young men un-chaperoned, but Charles knew that Raven was very well able to take care of herself, and that Henry would likely die before he did anything improper in her company.

Then Charles’ gaze left Henry and Armando and came to rest on Erik Lehnsherr, who was standing near the fire, currently alone. He found himself unable to stop his eyes from assessing the man, just as Raven’s had done, and while the conclusion of his analysis was not an unpleasant one, Charles nonetheless withdrew his scrutiny after a few seconds, lest he should be caught staring.

“Well, we seem to be a merry party indeed,” said Shaw, appearing at Charles’ side much as Randall had done, although perhaps a trifle less welcome. “And with two more members to arrive, who I understand from Miss Xavier are a pair of high-spirited young men.”

Charles was sure that that was not how Raven had described Alex and Sean, but Mr Shaw, it seemed, was possessed of _some_ tact.

“They do enjoy a party,” he confirmed. “Perhaps they may be a little too exuberant for some, but they have been my friends for some years now, and I could not fail to issue an invitation.”

“Of course not, of course not,” replied Shaw. “We must keep our friends close, otherwise we would find ourselves rather alone in the world.”

“I have my sister,” Charles pointed out. “I don’t think I could ever feel alone while she is around.”

“Oh, yes, I didn’t mean to discount the importance of family,” said Shaw. “I count myself very lucky to have my lovely wife, and my ward – she is precious to me also.”

“And your nephew, of course,” added Charles, his gaze straying back to Lehnsherr for a moment. He was pleased to see that he had been joined by Moira, and the two of them were engaged quite civilly in conversation.

“Ah yes. How could I leave out Erik?”

“I believe he only came to live with you a short while ago?” Charles asked speculatively.

In fact, he already knew that this was exactly what had happened, Shaw himself having revealed as much during that fateful meeting in London where Shaw had somehow managed to extract his invitation to this weekend out of Charles. But Charles, for all his admonishments to Raven, wasn't immune to the slight air of mystery that surrounded Mr Erik Lehnsherr. No one in the neighbourhood knew anything about the man apart from his name and the fact of his existence, and Charles had gained the distinct impression that Shaw would rather they didn't know even those scant details. The expression on the man’s face when he'd originally mentioned Lehnsherr, at a dinner party some months ago, had been such that it was obvious he'd let something slip that he'd not intended to.

Although why he didn't want his neighbours and acquaintances to know that he had a nephew, Charles couldn't imagine.

“Yes, that's correct,” Shaw was saying. “Erik has developed rather a taste for continental living over the years – England hasn't seemed to agree with him for some time.”

“That's a shame,” Charles replied. “I am something of a traveller myself – or, at least, I have been in the past – but I can't think of anywhere I'd rather call home than England's green and pleasant land.” His eyes slid briefly back to Lehnsherr, but none of the man's apparent antipathy towards Charles' homeland was evident in his face or posture. Lehnsherr was quietly carrying on his conversation with Moira, and betraying no displeasure at being anywhere other than where he was.

Shaw's gaze had apparently followed Charles'. “The lady conversing with Erik,” he said. “Miss MacTaggert, I believe you introduced her as - I don't think I quite caught who she is, exactly?”

It was a transparent enough attempt at turning the conversation, and Charles silently cursed himself for allowing Shaw the opening, unable now to revert to the original topic without appearing obvious or rude. He would have to wait a little longer to discover the answers to the riddle of Erik Lehnsherr, it appeared.

“Miss MacTaggert was formerly my sister’s governess,” Charles explained. “Of course, Raven is now too old to need such a thing, but she – and I – have found that we cannot do without Miss MacTaggert, so she is still here.”

“Ah yes, I believe I remember your sister mentioning a companion on a previous occasion. I confess, I was not aware of Miss MacTaggert’s existence at that point, otherwise we would have been sure to invite her too.”

Charles inclined his head in acknowledgement, aware that Moira had actually been rather glad to be excluded from that invitation – she was not one to push herself forward into circles where she did not think she fitted.

Shaw’s eyes were still fixed on the lady in question. “Still, I would have thought she would prefer to find herself a new position once your sister was no longer in need of a governess, rather than impose upon your charity.”

“She does not impose, and neither is it charity,” Charles corrected, unable to keep a little frostiness from slipping into his voice. “She is a friend to us all and I am happy to have her in my home. It is _her_ home too, after all.”

Shaw either didn’t notice Charles’ offence, or was deliberately ignoring it. “And Mr Muñoz, he must be a good friend too,” he said.

“The best,” Charles replied.

“I must admit, I was surprised to see one of his sort here.”

“You mean because he is a Negro, I suppose? And an American? I don’t see why that should be such a surprise. Or why, indeed, it matters at all.”

Shaw finally seemed to have realised that he might be being rude. “I beg your pardon, I meant no offence to either you or your guest. I was merely referring to the fact that you are a lot freer in your choice of company than most. I do find that some people in can be frightfully dull about such things.”

Charles was forced to accept the apology, slight as it was, or risk causing a scene, however minor. And he couldn’t deny that Shaw had a point – the Xaviers were rather well known for their disregard of what others would call the class divide. Charles certainly didn’t care for it and his father had been the same. He was sure that if it weren’t for their title and their wealth, they would have been pushed out to the fringes of society long ago for holding such ‘daring’ views.

Sebastian Shaw had no such protection. He was what all of Charles’ peers – and Charles himself, although somewhat less sneeringly – would call ‘New Money’, and was therefore only on the edges of the society he obviously longed to be a part of. Ironically, it was Charles’ disdain for the ‘rules’ that accounted for the ease with which Shaw had obtained his invitation to this party (although he was sure Raven would attribute it to him being what she termed a ‘soft touch’).

Charles was beginning to wonder, however, whether he might not have made more of a mistake than he had anticipated in issuing that invitation – whether his tendency towards generosity was finally catching up with him. This wasn’t the first time he had been in Shaw’s company, of course, but it hadn’t taken long at all for him to remember why it was the man had always made him slightly uneasy. On the surface, he was all affability and good cheer, but it didn’t take much to scratch that surface and reveal something slightly less amicable beneath.

“Will you excuse me for a moment?” Charles said to Shaw. “I must go and speak to Henry, and offer him my congratulations.” He felt very little guilt over the small fib – he had, after all, already congratulated Henry – and although he might have wished for a less obvious way to part company with Shaw for the moment, he decided not to let it trouble him.

However, “Are congratulations in order, then?” Shaw asked, and Charles was forced to elaborate.

“Henry has recently qualified as a doctor.”

“Well now, that’s quite an achievement!” Shaw looked over at Henry, who was still talking to Armando. “He does seem a promising young man.”

How he was able to make this judgement, having only exchanged a few words with Henry, Charles wasn’t quite sure, but there was no denying the validity of the comment.

“I shall come with you,” Shaw decided. “He deserves all of our congratulations for such a feat. He will be a worthy asset to his chosen profession, I am sure.”

“I am sure Henry will be happy to hear that,” Charles said, as graciously as he could. “Let me re-introduce you.”

Once he had done so, Shaw appeared eager to hear all about Henry’s medical study and training, and Charles finally took the opportunity to disengage himself from the Shaw (this time feeling rather more guilt about doing so – leaving Henry at the man’s mercy was dreadfully unfair, although at least Armando remained with them) and make his way over to where Raven was still entertaining Emma Shaw and Miss Salvadore.

“Ladies,” he said to his female guests, “I trust my sister is keeping you well supplied with refreshments and conversation.”

“Quite well,” Emma Shaw replied. “She has just been telling us something of the history of the house and grounds.” She did not appear especially impressed by said history.

“Well, you will find no one better informed on the subject,” Charles said. “My sister has made quite the study of it. She puts me to shame.”

“I would have thought it was necessary for Viscount Xavier to know all about his ancestral home.”

Charles smiled politely. “Unfortunately, I am left with the less interesting aspects of the estate to deal with – money and maintenance and legal matters. I am sure it is the same for your husband, madam.”

Emma Shaw inclined her head slightly in a gesture that could have indicated agreement, disagreement, or anything in between. Charles let the matter drop.

“Miss Salvadore,” he said, turning to the girl, “can I not tempt you to a piece of cake? I am reliably informed that our cook makes the best sponges in the county. Of course, it was she herself who informed me so, so we may have to take her words with a pinch of salt.”

He smiled again, more sincerely this time, but Miss Salvadore’s shy, almost timid, expression did not alter. “No, thank you, my lord,” she said, so quietly Charles had to strain to catch the words.

“Ah, very well, then. Although I fear I shall have to eat an extra slice myself to compensate, otherwise Mrs Daly will be most upset.”

Miss Salvadore seemed to positively shrink away from him at that, and Charles realised that he was not going to be able to easily joke and jolly the girl out of her shyness. He suppressed a frown. He didn’t recall house parties being such hard work. No doubt Raven would say that it was his own fault, and if he didn’t like the consequences, then…well.

He suspected she’d be correct. Not that he’d ever admit as much to her.

Unhappily, the work didn’t seem to get any easier as time wore on. Charles remained with Emma Shaw and Miss Salvadore for a while longer, allowing his sister to escape and return to Henry. He was a little reluctant to expose her to Sebastian Shaw, but was relieved to see out of the corner of his eye that Shaw seemed to be focusing his attention on Armando instead of Henry now – although he hoped Shaw hadn’t seen fit to discuss his opinions on Armando’s presence with Armando himself.

However, it proved to be a mistake to take his eyes off Shaw again, as before he knew it the man was by his side once more, and Charles was forced to make further conversation with all the members of the Shaw party – except one.

He noted that Raven at least was managing to exchange some words with Erik Lehnsherr, Henry still by her side, while Moira was speaking to Armando, now that he’d been released from Shaw’s company.

Charles might have felt a little nettled that none of them saw fit to rescue _him_ from the Shaws, but he supposed, once again, that that was the price of being the host. And still most likely his own fault.

All in all, he was very glad when the dressing gong sounded – a little earlier than normal, to signify that everyone’s luggage had been delivered to their rooms and they could now settle themselves in properly – and everyone departed to get ready for dinner.

Charles hung back for a moment, letting others precede him out of the drawing room, and was pleased to see that Raven and Moira were doing likewise. It would be a little excessive to say a council of war was called for, he supposed, but he certainly deemed it necessary to gather some intelligence from the two people whose opinions he respected the most.

To her credit, Raven did not utter the words ‘I told you so’, although Charles was sure she wanted to. However, her restraint was enough that he felt himself able to admit to his mistake without prompting.

“I may have been in error when issuing my invitations,” he acknowledged, before either Raven and Moira could speak, and was gratified to see the surprise in Raven’s eyes at his words. “I’m afraid this weekend may be a little trying for all of us, and for that, I apologise.”

“I am sure we will all be able to see it through,” Moira reassured him. “Although I might have wished for company other than the Shaws.” This was as close to criticism as Moira would come, Charles knew, but was nonetheless a strong indication of her feelings.

Raven’s restraint, however, appeared to have died in the face of Charles’ apology. “How will we put up with them for two more days?” she said. “Mr Shaw in particularly makes my skin crawl.”

“Did he say something to you?” Charles asked sharply, abruptly vowing that if Sebastian Shaw had upset Raven in any way the man would be leaving the house immediately, etiquette and courtesy be damned.

“No, please don’t worry,” Raven replied. “He was perfectly polite. But there is just something in his manner that sets me on edge.”

As Charles had experienced exactly the same sensation, he was unable to argue the point.

“And his wife and ward are not much better,” Raven continued. “Emma Shaw doesn’t seemed be interested in _anything_. She is so cold – I believe she fears that showing any expression at all might crack that perfect exterior.”

“She certainly seemed very reserved,” Charles allowed cautiously.

The snort that Raven failed suppress made Moira sigh and Charles roll his eyes. “Reserved does not even begin to describe it,” Raven exclaimed. “And as for Miss Salvadore – well, the girl wouldn’t say boo to a goose, I’m sure.”

“Don’t be mean, Raven,” Moira admonished. “Miss Salvadore clearly isn’t used to being in company so much.”

“She’s Mr Shaw’s ward, isn’t she?” replied Raven. “Surely she must have become used to a certain amount of this kind of thing, being part of his family.”

Moira frowned a little, unable to deny that there was a certain amount of truth in Raven’s words. She turned to Charles. “Do you know how long the Miss Salvadore has been under the guardianship of Mr Shaw?” she asked.

“I’m not entirely certain,” Charles said. “Although I seem to remember Mr Shaw mentioning something about her coming to them maybe three years ago. I believe he said something about Miss Salvadore’s father being a business associate of his.”

“He is dead now, I assume?” said Moira.

“He must be,” said Raven. “Otherwise why would Miss Salvadore be under the protection of Mr Shaw?”

“That means her mother must be dead also,” said Moira. “That poor girl. Raven, I’m surprised at you – you of all people should have more empathy with her.”

The words were perhaps blunter than Moira meant them to be, and she looked a little startled, and sorry, after she’d uttered them. Charles was surprised likewise, although in a way he was glad Moira had said it. He would never say such a thing to his sister himself, but as a matter of fact he was a little unimpressed by Raven’s attitude as well, and hoped that Moira’s reprimand might encourage her to be more sympathetic towards Miss Salvadore.

At this moment, it seemed to be working. Raven looked upset, but also abashed and a little ashamed. “You’re right, of course,” she said to Moira, a small tremor in her voice. “My behaviour is not what it should be.”

Moira smiled, and embraced Raven. “I am sorry too,” she said. “I would never want to hurt you by talking unfeelingly about your parents.”

“You never could,” Raven replied, smiling back tremulously. Then, with a visible effort, she gathered herself, and included Charles in her smile.

“Now, I do believe there is one person we have not included in our gossip yet, and that is Mr Lehnsherr. Charles, I could not help but notice that you did not speak to him at all during the afternoon.”

“That was not my choice, I assure you,” Charles told her. “I would have been pleased to speak to him, but other members of the party demanded my attention.” He sighed dramatically, happy to see that the theatrics prompted a larger smile from Raven. “One would almost think that the fates were conspiring to keep us apart.”

“Oh, how awful for you,” Raven said, and then giggled, unable to keep her expression serious enough to match her voice.

“I found him to be a pleasant enough conversationalist,” Moira said, obviously tired of their antics. “A little withdrawn, perhaps – reserved _is_ a word I would use to describe him – but not unfriendly. We talked about several topics, and he seems intelligent and well-spoken.”

“I found the same,” Raven admitted. “He did seem sincerely interested in Henry’s studies, and asked some clever questions. I didn’t understand them at all, of course, but Henry seemed very pleased to answer them.”

“I believe Henry would be pleased to answer questions about his studies all day long, no matter who was asking them,” Charles said dryly.

Raven gave him an oddly sly look, and then said, “Mr Lehnsherr also asked several questions about _you_ , Charles. He seemed rather interested in you.”

“That’s only natural, I suppose,” Charles replied. “I am his host, after all, and as we did not get to speak in person, he had no other way of finding out anything about me. He’s probably decided I am terribly rude for not making time to talk with him,” he added.

“I don’t think so,” said Raven. “He definitely noticed that your attention was being monopolised by Mr Shaw, and didn’t seem at all surprised by it. He said something about his uncle being hard to evade when he wanted to be.”

“Still, I hope he wasn’t too offended by my neglect,” Charles said. “I will have to make a point of speaking to him this evening.”

He couldn’t deny to himself that he now rather _wanted_ to speak to Erik Lehnsherr, and that Raven’s report on the man had only increased that desire. Lehnsherr had piqued his interest, there was no doubt about that – Shaw’s brief elaborations about his nephew had only increased the air of mystery surrounding him – and Charles couldn’t help but be flattered that Lehnsherr seemed to have had the same reaction to _him_.

“None of us will be speaking to anyone this evening if we don’t hurry.” Moira’s words broke into Charles’ thoughts, and his eyes went quickly to the clock in the mantelpiece. They were not late, not yet, but Charles was well aware that Moira valued punctuality, and he supposed that, as host and hostess, he and Raven should be ready for dinner in advance of their guests.

“Moira, you are correct as always,” Charles told her. “Come, let’s go and dress. Raven, I am sure you will want to make yourself look especially pretty for Mr McCoy,” he added teasingly.

Raven blushed, but glared at Charles at the same time. “I don’t know what you mean, Charles,” she said, but nonetheless hastened her steps a little as they all exited the drawing room.

However, halfway across the hall, Charles’ progress was arrested by Randall, the butler entering from the servants’ door and clearing his throat to catch Charles’ attention. Raven and Moira had already started up the stairs, and Charles nodded to them to continue, and that he would catch up. Then he turned to Randall. “Yes, Randall, what is it?”

“My lord, your last two guests have arrived – Mr Summers and Mr Cassidy.”

“Oh good, they are in time for dinner then. Have you shown them up to their rooms already?”

Randall looked slightly uncomfortable, which was unusual for him. “No, my lord, they are…”

His words were cut off by a sudden burst of laughter from somewhere close by, and then two young men suddenly tumbled out of the same door that Randall had emerged from. They spotted Charles immediately, and darted forward.

“Charles!” Alex Summers exclaimed, catching hold of Charles’ hand and shaking it vigorously. “Good to see you!”

“And you, Alex,” Charles replied, fighting not to laugh himself. Over Alex’s shoulder he could see Randall’s disapproving expression, the butler clearly not impressed by the behaviour of the last of Charles’ guests.

Sean Cassidy shook Charles’ hand in turn and then clapped him on the shoulder. “Haven’t missed dinner, have we?” he asked. “I’m famished.”

“You’re just in time,” Charles told him. “In fact, one might almost think that you were this late on purpose, so you could miss all the boring afternoon chit-chat.”

“How could you think such a thing?” exclaimed Sean. “We _love_ afternoon chit-chat, don’t we, Alex?”

“Of course we do!”

Charles did laugh, then, and rolled his eyes affectionately. Then he looked pointedly toward the door that the two young men had followed Randall out of. “Have you been terrorising my servants?” he asked, with mock-severity. “They don’t like it when we intrude upon their territory, after all.”

Alex laughed. “You know we don’t stand on ceremony, Charles,” he said.

“Yes, we thought about ringing the front door bell, like proper gentlemen,” put in Sean. “Then we realised it would be a lot less work for everyone if we just took the motor straight round to the garage and hopped out there.”

“I’m sure my butler is ever so grateful to be spared the effort of opening the front door,” Charles said, winking at them as Randall’s expression turned a little sourer.

“Your staff were very welcoming,” Alex told him. “And very polite. They wouldn’t even let us haul our own luggage out of the car.”

“I’ve arranged for George to bring the gentlemen’s bags upstairs as quickly as possible,” Randall said then, looking positively scandalised at the idea that his betters might have to carry their own luggage, and obviously desperate to try and restore the natural order of things.

“Thank you, Randall. Your efficiency in the face of our disorganisation is admirable, as always,” replied Charles.

“I shall show Mr Summers and Mr Cassidy up to their rooms now, my lord.”

“No need for that, I’ll show them up myself as I’m going that way,” Charles said. He knew the response would upset Randall anew, but really, couldn’t the man see it was ridiculous for the both of them to trail upstairs when it wasn’t necessary? Charles would be the first to admit that it was rather nice having servants, but he wasn’t the kind of person who wanted to rely on them to the exclusion of being able to do anything for himself. And showing Alex and Sean upstairs was hardly a difficult task.

“Very well, my lord,” Randall sniffed, and Charles heard Alex and Sean both smother their renewed laughter, not very successfully.

“The West Room and the Oak Room, I presume?” Charles asked his butler, and received the man’s stiff nod.

“Your luggage will be up momentarily, sirs,” said Randall, as the three of them started up the stairs, and then sniffed again as Sean called back, “Thanks, Randall, old bean.”

“I don’t believe Randall is a fan of ours,” Alex said, as they reached the top of the stairs.

“I can’t imagine why,” Charles said dryly. “I do hope you are not going to disconcert the rest of my guests to quite that extent.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” disclaimed Sean, although there was a twinkle in his eye that made Charles chuckle and raise his eyes to the heavens.

“Remind me again why I invited the pair of you?”

“Because the party wouldn’t be half so much fun without us?”

“No, I’m not sure that’s it,” Charles replied thoughtfully, and then chuckled again at Sean’s offended huff. “I’m sure it will come to me,” he continued. “Now, if you’d like to follow along, I’ll show you your rooms. Dinner isn’t for another hour, but I don’t think we’d better try Randall’s patience any further by being late for it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are interested, Shaw’s cars would look something like this and this.


	3. Chapter 3

The drawing room was empty when he entered it, and Charles breathed a sigh of relief. It looked like he’d arrived in time to perform the duty of welcoming everyone down for dinner.

He didn’t remain alone for long, however. The next to appear, somewhat surprisingly given they’d arrived at the house after everyone else, were Alex and Sean. As neither of them travelled with a valet, Charles had had Randall arrange for George to help the two young men dress for dinner, but the fact that they’d arrived downstairs so precipitously indicated that George most likely hadn’t been able to practice the finer details of the procedure.

And indeed, as they entered the room, Charles saw that Alex was still fussing with his cuffs, and, a moment or two later, Sean realised that his collar was crooked, and peered into the mirror over the mantelpiece in an effort to right it.

Charles spent a cheerful few minutes talking to the pair, catching up on their antics since the last time they’d met in London, before Raven and Moira arrived, closely followed by Henry and Armando.

Raven looked slightly disconcerted to find herself pre-empted by anyone other than Charles, but to her credit was perfectly gracious as Charles reintroduced her and Moira to Alex and Sean, and then performed the introductions between the four gentlemen.

They were all chatting away merrily (Charles pleased to see that, despite her remonstrations over their invitation, Raven had included Alex and Sean in her conversation with Henry), when someone cleared their throat behind him, and Charles turned to find Erik Lehnsherr lingering in the doorway. The expression on his face could not precisely be called uncertain, but Charles had no doubt that it was intimidating to walk into a room of people who clearly knew each other well, even for a man as apparently self-assured as Lehnsherr.

“Mr Lehnsherr, good evening!” Charles exclaimed, beckoning him forward.

“Good evening everyone,” replied Lehnsherr, stepping fully into the room. “I hope I am not late.”

“Not at all,” Charles assured him. “We are only just assembling, and as you see, still waiting for your uncle and aunt and Miss Salvadore. The dinner gong will not be rung for at least ten minutes yet.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said Lehnsherr, smiling. Then his eyes drifted past Charles to alight on Alex and Sean.

“Ah yes, let me introduce some friends of mine. Mr Alex Summers and Mr Sean Cassidy, this is Mr Erik Lehnsherr.”

The gentlemen all shook hands and exchanged the customary pleasantries. Then a silence fell, no seeming to know quite how to behave now that they had a stranger in their midst.

Charles hurried to fill the conversational gap, addressing himself to Lehnsherr and allowing the others to turn back to their own tête-à-têtes. “I hope you found your room to your satisfaction?” he said to Lehnsherr

“Very much so,” said Lehnsherr.

“And you had everything you needed?”

“I did. More than I needed, perhaps.”

Charles’ brow creased in confusion. “I’m afraid I do not quite understand you. _Was_ something wrong?”

“Not in the slightest.” Was Charles imagining it, or did Lehnsherr suddenly look faintly embarrassed? “Please do not mistake me, my room is very satisfactory. I am just…not used to such luxury, I suppose.”

About to comment on the magnificence of Sebastian Shaw’s home (if anything, it was even more luxurious than Xavier Hall – almost to the extent of vulgarity, in Charles’ opinion), Charles suddenly remembered that of course Lehnsherr had only taken up residence there recently, and had been living abroad prior to that. And if his words were any indication, he had _not_ been living in the manner to which Shaw was accustomed.

“Yes, your uncle told me you have been living on the continent for a while,” he said, hoping it was enough to lead Lehnsherr on.

“Mainly in France,” Lehnsherr said, accepting the opening. “But I have also spent some time in Germany.”

A question that Charles was not even aware he’d been pondering was suddenly furnished with the beginnings of an answer. Of course, Lehnsherr was not an English name, and indeed, had something of the Bavarian about it. It was on the tip of Charles’ tongue to ask Lehnsherr if he had family in that part of the world when Sebastian Shaw walked into the room, along with his wife and Miss Salvadore.

And so Charles was forced to abandon his conversation with Lehnsherr in favour of welcoming his remaining guests, making small talk with them until he heard the welcome sound of the dinner gong.

“Ah, I believe it is time for dinner. Mrs Shaw, perhaps you would allow me to escort you?”

Too late, Charles realised the unintended result of his gallantry, and he glanced round quickly in time to see Shaw offering his arm to Raven, his sister having no choice but to take it, or appear discourteous. Raven caught his eye and shook her head at him minutely, looking nothing more than resigned to her fate. Charles tried to calm his worries – surely Shaw couldn’t say anything upsetting during the short walk between the drawing room and dining room?

He turned back to Emma Shaw to find the lady waiting with poorly disguised impatience. “My apologies. Please allow me.”

He took her arm and led the way from the drawing room, noting as he did so that Lehnsherr had paired himself with Miss Salvadore, and that Henry was escorting Moira, although it was clear that the young man would rather have been by Raven’s side.

Randall had worked his usual magic with the dining table, the silverware gleaming, and the table linen snowy white. Charles showed Emma Shaw to her seat, regretting as he did so the niceties of convention that meant he was sandwiched between her and Miss Salvadore, required to entertain them for the duration of the meal, while all the people he really wanted to converse with were too far away to say a word to.

Charles knew that, if his invitations had only included close friends such as Henry and Armando, he could have happily ignored convention, and people would have been able to sit where they chose, and the chatter up and down the table would have been noisy and cheerful. But he knew that the Shaws would expect to see things done properly, and so the rules had to be observed.

He supposed it was just another indication that Raven’s dismay about their neighbours’ invitation had been well founded.

The only advantage of the current seating arrangements was that Shaw himself was too distant to be able to claim Charles’ attention again, as he had seemed determined to do up until now. However, such an advantage was slight, placing Shaw as it did next his sister for the duration. His only comfort was that Moira was on Shaw’s other side, able to assist Raven if necessary. And he hoped that Erik Lehnsherr also would prove to be a positive factor – from what he had noted of the man so far, Charles thought he would not be an unpleasant dinner companion.

As the soup was served, Charles turned his attention back to Mrs Shaw, although even while he spoke to her he could not stop himself from keeping one eye on what was happening at the other end of the table.

“I hope you found everything to your liking in your room?” he asked, falling back on the same bland questioning he had employed with Lehnsherr.

Emma Shaw took a dainty sip of soup, and then laid her spoon back into the bowl before dabbing at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “Perfectly, thank you,” she said eventually. “Everything was most charming.”

Something about the way she uttered the word ‘charming’ told Charles it wasn’t exactly a compliment, but he couldn’t acknowledge that fact. “I am glad to hear it,” he said. “So many of the rooms in this house are shut up far too much – I’m always happy when they can actually be put to some use. There is nothing better than a house full of good company, I always think.”

He received a politely inclined head in acknowledgement, and then Emma Shaw took another sip of soup.

Charles repressed a sigh and exerted himself again. “Have you been in the country long?” he said.

“Less than a fortnight,” she replied, and then, to Charles’ surprise, elaborated, “I prefer to stay in London as much as possible. I find it contains more…diversions than the country.”

Again, Charles could not miss the implied disparagement, but he only smiled and said, “London has its entertainments, of course, but I have always preferred the country. The hustle and bustle of the city is always a little too much for me.”

“Yes, it is not for everyone,” Emma Shaw concurred, bestowing a rather pitying look on him.

Charles once again pretended he had not noticed it. “Still, I hope we can provide you with a few diversions this weekend. Please let me know if there is anything I can do in that regard.”

“Thank you.” And the lady turned her attention back to her soup.

And so it continued for several courses, Charles obliged to keep up the flow of conversation in the face of frosty politeness and veiled rebuffs. Once or twice he attempted to engage Miss Salvadore, at his left hand, but her timidity was such that she seemed to prefer keeping her attention firmly on the plate in front of her until, Charles was pleased to see, Armando managed to draw her out a little, his calm, kind manner apparently more to her taste than whatever it was in Charles’ that made her withdraw.

Eventually, however, Raven rose smoothly to her feet and signalled to the ladies that it was time to retire to the drawing room. Charles managed to keep the relief off his face as Emma Shaw rose likewise and walked away. But the emotion only lasted for a few moments, as the men shuffled their seating arrangements to congregate at one end of the table, and Sebastian Shaw somehow contrived to end up next to Charles.

He was immensely grateful to Randall, who instantly appeared at Shaw’s right elbow to offer him some port, allowing Charles to slip away to the sideboard under the pretence of fetching a second decanter, and then re-position himself beside Erik Lehnsherr. By the time Shaw realised the situation it was too late to do anything about it without it being obvious, and he was forced to remain where he was.

“Will you?” Charles asked Lehnsherr, tilting the decanter towards him invitingly, and was surprised when the other man shook his head.

“Thank you, but I shall wait for the coffee – I prefer to moderate my alcohol intake.”

Charles glanced around at the glasses of port that were now in everyone else’s hand, and the one that Randall had silently placed in front of Charles himself, and for no reason he could explain felt a faint wave of embarrassment wash over him.

“But please don’t restrain yourself on my account,” Lehnsherr added. “I am well aware that my habits are rather peculiar.”

Charles was spared the necessity of replying by Shaw suddenly raising his glass in a toast.

“To Charles Xavier, an excellent host.”

“An excellent host,” everyone else echoed, raising their glasses likewise. Lacking the necessary accoutrement, Lehnsherr merely inclined his head in Charles’ direction as he spoke the words, holding Charles’ eye until the others had placed their glasses back on the table.

Somewhat flustered, Charles nodded his thanks to everyone in turn, and took a mouthful of his own port, which was mellow and fortifying in equal measure. Then he signalled to Randall to bring in the coffee a little earlier than usual, and tried to settle back into his chair, finding himself clutching his glass like a lifeline.

*~*~*~*~*

“So, ladies, how have you been getting on without us?” Charles asked cheerfully.

Raven shot him a withering look, partly in response to his implication, and partly as a promise of retribution for leaving Moira and herself along for so long with Emma Shaw and Miss Salvadore.

Charles smiled crookedly back. In actual fact, he had hurried the men out of the dining room as soon as he decently could, wanting to relieve Raven from precisely the fate she was accusing him of, as well as hoping that, in a slightly larger party, he might have more hope of avoiding Sebastian Shaw, whose efforts to continually capture Charles’ attention were becoming somewhat tiresome.

He had managed to successfully keep Shaw at arm’s length while they drank their port, but only because Alex and Sean had monopolised the after-dinner conversation by relating the tale of an incident that had occurred the previous week in London – something involving a horse and pond in Hyde Park. Charles had laughed along with everyone else, but while he was grateful to his friends for providing him with an excuse not to talk to Shaw, it had also left him once more unable to continue his discussion with Erik Lehnsherr.

It was therefore with a mixture of relief and disappointment that he had proposed re-joining the ladies as soon as he had noticed everyone’s glasses were empty.

“Mrs Shaw and I have been waiting for you,” Raven said, as Charles crossed the room to the assembled ladies. “We need two of you gentlemen to make up a bridge party, as both Miss Salvadore and Moira have declined to play.”

“May I volunteer myself?” Armando said, having followed Charles over.

“Count me in too,” Alex called from across the room. “I’ll play a hand or two.”

“Thank you,” Raven said. “Perhaps you could get the table set up and look after Mrs Shaw for a moment, Mr Muñoz, while I speak to my brother.”

“Of course.” Armando moved away from them towards the card table, joining Alex and Emma Shaw, who did not look particularly happy about identity of her fellow card players, although she allowed Armando to pull out a chair for her.

Charles looked at Raven questioningly. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“Not with me, no,” Raven replied. “Mr Lehnsherr and Mr Shaw, on the other hand…” She trailed off significantly.

“What about them?”

“Did you notice that they barely spoke to each other all through dinner? In fact, I don’t think they exchanged more than five words.”

Charles frowned. On the occasions he’d been able to cast his eyes down the table during the meal, he hadn’t noticed that Lehnsherr seemed particularly withdrawn. He’d witnessed him speaking to Raven several times, and at one point to Alex on his other side (although Charles would have said that Lehnsherr hadn’t seemed especially impressed by the younger man’s conversation).

“Are you sure?” he said. “They were seated apart, after all.”

“But they were right opposite each other,” Raven protested. “It is perfectly possible to carry on a conversation in such circumstances.”

“Perhaps they both just preferred to speak to you, instead,” Charles suggested.

Raven rolled her eyes at Charles’ obvious compliment, but before she could protest any further, Moira spoke up. “I’m not one to engage in flights of fancy, Charles, you know that,” she said. “But I noticed the pair’s mutual silence as well. Mr Lehnsherr very much did _not_ want to talk to Mr Shaw. And although Mr Shaw was perfectly friendly to both Raven and myself, it was obvious that he was aware of Mr Lehnsherr’s presence, _and_ his determination not to speak to him.”

“You see?” Raven exclaimed triumphantly. “There is something amiss between them.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Charles told both of them. “You forget, Mr Lehnsherr has been in Europe for many years, and has only just returned to live with his uncle. They are probably still getting to know each other again.”

He glanced around quickly as he spoke, to locate both men, and saw that Shaw was talking to Henry, while Lehnsherr had seated himself in a chair in the corner, rather obviously separated from the rest of the party. Lehnsherr’s eyes were fixed on Shaw, but then, almost as if he had become aware of Charles’ regard, they flicked to Charles himself.

Surprised at having been caught out, Charles snapped his gaze away, back to Raven and Moira.

“You see it too, don’t you?” Raven said astutely. “What do you think can be the matter?”

“Well, we can’t very well ask either of them, can we?” Charles returned, his curiosity nonetheless undeniably piqued again as he remembered Shaw’s apparent reluctance to discuss his nephew on previous occasions. “It will have to remain a mystery. Now, Raven,” he added, as his sister looked set to protest again, “I think you should go and join your card party. They are waiting for you.”

Raven frowned at him, but went. Charles looked around again, and in an effort to keep his eyes from drifting back to Lehnsherr, turned his attention to the piano. “And I believe I shall entertain everyone a little,” he said. “Moira, would you be a dear and turn the pages for me?”

“Of course, Charles,” she replied. “But don’t you think you should be mingling with your guests a little?”

Charles accepted the mild rebuke with a sheepish look, but it did not prevent him from making a beeline for the piano. “You wouldn’t begrudge me a short break, would you?” he said in a low voice as he seated himself at the instrument. “I’m quite exhausted by mingling already.”

He was unable to stop himself from glancing quickly towards Shaw, and happily saw understanding dawn on Moira’s face.

“Well, perhaps just a short break, then,” she said.

“Thank you, my dear.”

As the first few notes flowed from the piano a few heads turned, surprise showing on some faces. Charles ignored them all, however, and threw himself into the music. He did not try to sing, having been told by Raven on countless occasions that no one wished to listen to his caterwauling, but instead restricted himself to some of the more modern instrumentals – light, cheerful pieces that let his fingers dance across the keys and allowed him to think of something other than his guests for a little while.

He could not put off his duties as host forever, though, and all too soon they returned to claim his attention.

“Charles,” Moira said, under the cover of leaning in to place a new piece of music on the stand, “I think you’d better go and intervene over there.”

She inclined her head subtly across the room, and Charles’ eyes followed the movement towards Shaw and Henry. He was startled to see the latter looking rather angry about something – Henry was normally a mild-mannered man who abhorred conflict and arguments. Shaw, however, appeared oblivious to the younger man’s emotion, his own gaze directed towards the party around the card table as he continued speaking.

“I think you may be right,” Charles said, standing quickly. “Will you take over for me here?”

Moira nodded and slid on to the piano stool as Charles made his way swiftly across the room, thinking as fast as his feet were moving.

“Henry, just the man!” he said jovially, surprising Henry and interrupting Shaw in mid-speech. “I’m very sorry for barging in like this,” he continued, in a quieter voice now that he had their attention, “but I need your assistance, Henry.”

“Of course, Charles,” Henry replied, still looking unsettled, but mastering it quickly in Charles’ presence. “How can I help?”

“Well, it is not me who requires assistance, actually,” Charles amended. “But I think Miss Salvadore may. I’m very much afraid that Sean is frightening her, and wondered if you might ride to her rescue?”

All three of them looked towards where Sean and Miss Salvadore were seated together on a sofa, Sean in full flow and obviously relating another of his madcap tales, while the young lady looked like she was attempting to disappear into the cushions, clearly uncomfortable but brought up not to display any discourtesy by simply rising and walking away.

Of course, this meant Charles’ request had the advantage of being true, and much as Charles did not wish any of his guests to be uncomfortable, he couldn’t help but be grateful that he had a ready-made reason for separating Henry from Shaw.

For a moment, Charles wondered whether Shaw would have something to say about Sean’s intimidation (unintentional though it was) of his ward, but the other man appeared to be completely unbothered, even going so far as to smile at the situation in a way that Charles found vaguely unsettling.

“I would be happy to,” Henry was saying. “Mr Cassidy’s exuberance is not for everyone, after all.”

“Thank you, Henry, I knew I could rely on you,” Charles said, and then breathed a silent sigh of relief as Henry made his way over to the pair on the sofa and insinuated himself smoothly between Sean and Miss Salvadore.

Charles turned back to Shaw, aware that he was now stuck with the man again, but for once accepting the necessity of it. “I apologise,” he said. “It was not my intention to interrupt your conversation with Henry. But as he says, Sean’s exuberance can be a little overwhelming for those not used to it.”

“Please, no apologies are necessary,” Shaw replied. “I’m sure Angel will be very grateful for his assistance.”

Charles inclined his head, and then, scrambling for something to say, observed, “The young lady is not from England, I take it?”

“No,” Shaw replied. “She is a foreigner, as were her parents. Hispanic – her father was a business associate of mine in Spain.”

“Spain?” Charles said, this piece of information new to him. “I didn’t realise the country was a land of business opportunity.”

“Oh, I find there are business opportunities everywhere, if one cares to look for it,” Shaw replied. “And I am not the sort of man to pass up _any_ opportunity for business.”

“An admirable quality,” said Charles blandly. “It must make you a formidable businessman.”

“I do well enough,” said Shaw, with modesty so false Charles wondered that it didn’t choke him. “I would say that I am lucky, except I believe that a man should make his own luck.”

He glanced towards Miss Salvadore again, and Charles was moved to say, delicately, “Her parents are dead, I think?”

“Naturally they are,” Shaw confirmed. “She would not be my ward otherwise.” He did not seem particularly sympathetic about the loss of Miss Salvadore’s parents, however, even as he added, “The poor girl was quite alone. She had no choice but to allow me to take her in.”

It struck Charles as an odd choice of words, although he could not quite put his finger on why. “She is lucky you were there,” he said politely. “I cannot imagine what the world must be like for a young girl who has lost all her family. I certainly hope that if anything were to happen to me, my friends would take care of Raven.”

“I have no doubt Miss Xavier would be well looked after,” Shaw replied. “She is lovely enough that any man would be overjoyed to be able to take care of her.”

Charles nodded stiffly in thanks, struggling not to show his displeasure at the vulgarity of the compliment. And he was not any more pleased at Shaw’s next question.

“Does she have any suitors yet?” he asked. “But what am I saying, of course she does! Such beautiful young lady must have many admirers.”

“Sir, I do not think…” Charles began, belatedly attempting to curtail the conversation.

“I am sure she would not be adverse to one more, however,” Shaw continued, apparently oblivious to Charles’ protest. “And my nephew will relish a little competition, I am certain.”

“Your nephew?” said Charles, momentarily bewildered. “Mr Lehnsherr?”

“He is the only nephew I have,” Shaw said cheerfully. “They will make a very handsome couple, don’t you think?”

It was suddenly abundantly clear what had made Henry so angry. Unfortunately, Charles could not rely on anyone to intervene, as he had done for Henry. With an effort, he mastered himself. “Sir,” he said coldly, “I am afraid you are getting ahead of yourself. My sister and your nephew barely know each other, and besides, I believe she has the right to make her own choices in this matter.”

“Do you mean she already has an arrangement with someone?” Shaw asked, frowning.

“Mr Lehnsherr will understand, and not be too disappointed, I trust,” Charles replied, and realised too late that he might have revealed more of Raven’s private business than he had meant to.

For a moment Shaw was silent, and then, “I suppose this is because we are not part of your precious aristocracy,” he said, and his tone was so suddenly vicious that Charles had to fight not to take a step back. “You will not even consider my nephew because he does not come with a title. But I assure you, we are just as good as all your precious lords and barons and earls.”

“It has nothing to do with that,” Charles replied hotly. “I would not care who my sister married, as long as she was happy. And as I have already said, whoever _I_ consider is of no consequence – Raven will decide for herself.”

“Well, in that case,” Shaw said, his voice dripping venom, “might I enquire who the man who aspires to your sister is? Perhaps you can prove yourself worthy of this moral high ground you claim to stand on.”

“No, you may not,” Charles snapped. “I’m afraid that is none of your business, sir.” Privately, he was sure Shaw had already worked out who it was, and taunted Henry with his plans for Raven and his nephew on purpose. But he didn’t mention that – he had already let too much slip out in the heat of the moment, and was determined to protect what little remained of Raven’s privacy.

“Now, if you will excuse me,” he continued frostily, “I believe Miss MacTaggert requires my assistance at the piano.” And Charles turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Shaw alone and the object of several stares.

*~*~*~*~*

“My lord?” Randall’s voice arrested Charles’ progress as he crossed the hall. “Has everyone retired for the night?”

“Yes, Randall, they have.”

“And you, my lord?”

“Not quite yet.”

“Very good, my lord. I’ll have Harris wait for you.”

“No, don’t do that. I’m not sure how long I’ll be. Tell Harris to go to bed. And you must do the same. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself tonight.”

Nothing about Randall’s expression telegraphed any doubts on that score, but Charles knew the butler was harbouring them anyway. Nonetheless, Randall merely nodded at him and said, “Very well. Good-night, my lord.”

“Good-night, Randall.”

As Randall disappeared into one of the secret byways of the servants, Charles paused a moment longer, absorbing the silence of the house. He was by nature a sociable, gregarious type of person, but there were times when one needed a little peace and quiet to calm one’s mind and relax.

And after the trials and tribulations of this evening, this was definitely one of those times.

Moira had given him a concerned look when he returned to the piano after his altercation with Shaw, but Charles had only shaken his head at her minutely, and then turned the page of the music on the stand in front of her, continuing the pretence that had allowed him to escape the unpleasant situation.

Shaw had remained in the drawing room a while longer, not speaking to anyone but perambulating about until he came to rest by the end of the sofa on which Miss Salvadore was sitting. But he lingered there for only a few moments before abruptly announcing the room at large that he was going to bed, something that Charles could only be grateful for.

That seemed to be the catalyst for everyone else, as Miss Salvadore slipped out shortly afterwards, and once the card players had wrapped up their hand, Emma Shaw nodded coolly to everyone and did likewise.

Charles had hoped (and expected, maybe) that the rest might stay, but one by one they all made their excuses (Charles could not blame them for being tired, after spending the day travelling) and also went upstairs. Even Alex And Sean, who could normally be relied upon for some late-night antics, pleaded fatigue, so Charles bade everyone good-night, kissed Raven and Moira (who still looked worried, but didn’t press the issue), and let them leave.

It was only then that he thought to look around for Lehnsherr, but the gentleman was nowhere to be seen – a fact that disappointed Charles more than he wanted to admit.

Charles himself, however, while admittedly tired, knew he would not be able to sleep if he tried now. There was too much in his head to allow for that – his desire to be a good host and make sure everyone passed a pleasant weekend clashing with the reverberations of his exchange with Shaw.

So he was taking himself to the library, hoping to find some solace in his books, and possibly his liquor cabinet. The room was his haven, and he knew its environs would soothe him.

However, it quickly became apparent that he was not going to be able to claim the space as his own tonight.

The ruddy glow of the fire was what attracted his attention first as he slipped through the door, and he frowned slightly. Could Randall possibly have anticipated that the library would be needed tonight? Charles supposed it was possible – on occasion he almost felt like his butler was capable of reading minds.

Then another sound overlaid the soft crackle of the flames – someone coughing lightly – and Charles startled slightly as he realised that, seated in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, long legs stretched out towards the grate, was Erik Lehnsherr.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, I didn’t mean to intrude,” Charles blurted, and retreated a step or two towards the threshold.

Lehnsherr had half-risen to his feet in surprise at Charles’ words, obviously not having heard Charles come in. Now he straightened the rest of the way, and replied, “No, I am the one who must apologise. I did not realise this was your private room - I merely sought a quiet place to clear my head.”

“Well, that makes two of us, then,” Charles said wryly. “Please, return to your seat. I can assure you that you are very much not intruding.”

This was nothing but the truth. Charles might have been searching for his own solitude, but the possibility of having Lehnsherr’s company without distraction for once was more than enough to make him wholeheartedly discard that desire.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked as he crossed the room to the liquor cabinet. Then, remembering how Lehnsherr had declined the port after dinner, added, “Or I can ring for Randall to bring something else, if you’d like.”

But, “Brandy, if you have it,” Lehnsherr said, and out of the corner of his eye Charles noticed his silhouette folding itself back into his chair.

“Of course.” Charles switched on the lamp on his desk – the warm glow enough to illuminate the room beyond the power of the firelight, but not so harsh as to destroy the intimacy of the atmosphere – and then poured the drinks, brandy for Lehnsherr and whiskey for himself.

Lehnsherr accepted his drink with a nod and a quirk of his lips that could have been a smile, and then kept his eyes fixed on Charles as he sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the fireplace, facing Lehnsherr.

There was a moment or two of silence as they both savoured their liquor, and as Charles cast around for something to say. He eventually settled on, “I hope the evening wasn’t too tiring for you,” and then mentally cringed as he heard how ridiculous the words sounded aloud.

Lehnsherr smiled his almost-smile again. “Not at all.” He paused, and then added, almost in a tone of admission, “I’m not really used to large parties. I find them a little trying.”

“I see.”

“Not that I meant to imply that your guests are in any way tiresome. Or yourself, of course.” The expression of awkward apology looked odd on Lehnsherr’s face, but Charles did not doubt its sincerity.

“Please, think nothing of it. I can find parties a little trying myself, sometimes.”

“Such as tonight?” Lehnsherr enquired.

“You have caught me out,” said Charles, chagrined that he had not been more circumspect.

“My uncle is not the easiest man to get along with,” said Lehnsherr, nodding.

Charles’ eyebrows shot up in surprise, but before he could pursue that line of conversation, Lehnsherr continued by asking, “So you are a musician, then?”

“What?” said Charles, wrong-footed by the sudden change of topic.

“The piano, earlier.”

“Oh, that.” Charles shrugged. “I would not call myself a musician, exactly. I enjoy it, and I flatter myself I’m fairly adept, but really I’m nothing more than a dabbler.”

“You play well.”

“Thank you.” The pleasure of the compliment caught Charles unawares, and for the second time in as many minutes he found himself sadly off balance. Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself together, determined not to let Lehnsherr fluster him further. “Do you play?”

“No. I’m afraid I do not possess the means to ‘dabble’ in such things.”

“The means? But your uncle…?” Charles cut himself off abruptly, realising the impropriety of inquiring too deeply into the man’s private affairs at the same time as he recalled Lehnsherr’s previous reference to the lack of luxury in his life.

“Is rich?” Lehnsherr seemed to delight in being bluntly honest, in a way that Charles had not often experienced from others. “Yes, he is, but that does not necessarily make me so.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It is not prying when it is obvious.”

Charles frowned. “I’m not sure I follow?”

“Doubtless Miss Xavier has told you that I barely spoke to my uncle at dinner.”

“She might have mentioned something to that effect, yes,” Charles murmured, embarrassed to admit to their gossiping.

“And you may have noticed that I didn’t search out his company in the drawing room either this afternoon or this evening?”

“I suppose I did, yes.”

“My uncle and I do not get along,” said Lehnsherr succinctly. “I left his house as soon as I reached my majority, and I have not returned there until now.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. I have no wish to get along with him. If I could have escaped him earlier, I would have. But he was my guardian when I was younger, and so I was ensnared until I was of an age to make my own way in the world.”

“Your guardian? Your parents, they are…?” Again, Charles stopped himself from finishing the intrusive question. Lehnsherr’s honesty was encouraging him to be more familiar than he had the right to be.

“They are dead, yes. When I was twelve.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Lehnsherr waved his condolences away, although by the uncertain light of the fire and lamp Charles could see that his expression was pinched and drawn, and he wondered why the man persisted in this line of conversation if it caused him pain.

“My parents were not rich people, and as a boy I was therefore used to living without the trappings of wealth. My uncle became my guardian when they died, and although with him I lived a life of ease, I never forgot how to exist on the lower rungs of society. So it was not such a great hardship to climb down to them again when I had to.”

“You said you lived in France and Germany.”

“Mostly the former. Germany I visited more rarely. But I did not want to forget my heritage.”

“Your father was German?”

“Yes. My mother’s parents disowned her when she married him, but she used to say that if she hadn’t married him it would have been a betrayal of her love.”

“That’s very romantic.”

“Is it?” Lehnsherr gave him a look that was both sharp and heavy at the same time. “Poverty is not so romantic, as it turns out.” Then he seemed to relent, sighing. “They _were_ very much in love,” he admitted. “It was obvious even to a small boy, wrapped up in his own little world.”

Pain tightened the lines of Lehnsherr’s face again, and Charles had to fight not to lean across and lay a comforting hand on the man. But before he could murmur any sympathetic sentiments – which were sincere, but which he feared would sound like platitudes – Lehnsherr shook himself and turned the subject again.

“Perhaps we should talk of pleasanter things. Did I understand from Miss MacTaggert that you also have spent some time in Europe?”

Charles smiled, allowing the diversion with a mixture of relief and disappointment. “I have. Armando – Mr Muñoz – and I spent a year travelling when I decided to take a break from university. I enjoyed my studies, of course, but I found I needed some enjoyment and release from their rigours. Armando found me a sadly feckless travelling companion, I know.”

“I sometimes thought that I could have done with a companion – feckless or otherwise – in my travels.”

“Oh, so you visited places other than Germany, then?” Charles asked, surprised. He had supposed, from Lehnsherr’s references to poverty, that the man had lived a simple, restrained life.

“Not as many as you, I am sure,” Lehnsherr replied. “I heard America mentioned earlier this evening, and I have never made it that far. But my wanderings did take me to Switzerland and Austria. And Spain.”

“Spain? That is where Miss Salvadore comes from.”

“Yes.”

No further acknowledgement of the coincidence was forthcoming, and Charles was forced to dismiss it as exactly that. Although he couldn’t help wondering what purpose had taken a man of little means on a trip to a country so unconnected with him.

But all he said was, “So, you would have liked a companion, then?”

“On occasion,” Lehnsherr allowed. “I have led rather a solitary existence these last ten years or so, and it is not always good for a man to be so much alone.”

“I will have to agree with you there,” Charles said. “We may all crave solitude from time to time, but I do not think I could live without the company of my fellow man for very long.”

“And if you were forced to it by circumstance?”

“Then I might well go stir crazy!”

That surprised a small laugh out of Lehnsherr, who gave him a look that was sceptical, but at the same time oddly fond.

“Then perhaps it is a good thing you have not lived my life,” Lehnsherr said. “While company might have been desirable sometimes, I fear my existence has not been one that easily accommodates companionship.”

“But surely a true friend would not care whether you were rich or poor?”

“It would not have been my poverty that repelled them, I think,” said Lehnsherr cryptically

“Still, a true friend would be just that – true.”

“Perhaps.” Lehnsherr’s look was doubtful, and Charles knew there must be aspects of his story that the man had not revealed, which, despite his curiosity, Charles would not press him for.

Instead, he took a leaf from Lehnsherr’s book and diverted the conversation back to pleasanter waters. “But we were speaking of the places we have visited. Did you spend any time in Paris while you were in France?”

“Indeed, I lived there for many years.”

“In Paris itself?” Charles said, delighted. “How wonderful! There is nowhere like Paris. I’m not a fan of cities as a general – as my sister will tell you – but Paris is different. I often think it is the only place other than here that I could ever call home.”

“Then you have lived there too?”

“Oh, no. I was merely a tourist. But there was something about the place – it felt freer than London somehow. All that art and life and beauty – it was…well, joyful.”

Lehnsherr chuckled, the sound deeper and more musical than Charles might have expected from the man’s stern countenance. “You sound quite bohemian.”

Charles laughed too. “I suppose I do, don’t I? I can assure you, I am not. Its just, there’s nowhere…”

“…like Paris,” Lehnsherr finished for him. “I quite agree. Although,” his expression darkened momentarily, “perhaps I did not take the time to appreciate it as I should have.”

“Then we must go back and I will teach you to,” Charles declared.

Lehnsherr laughed again at his enthusiasm, and Charles felt the sound sink into his blood and hum through his veins.

*~*~*~*~*

It was only later, when Lehnsherr had said his good-nights and departed for bed, that Charles realised that, for all his honesty, there was one important part of his story that the man had neglected to elucidate – why he had come back. Why, when he and his uncle were still so much at odds, had Lehnsherr chosen to return from Europe to live with Shaw again?

Could it be that he had become tired of a poor man’s life? Charles didn’t think so. Lehnsherr had seemed, if not proud of it, then at least well accustomed to his lifestyle, and well able to continue living it.

So why would he put himself back in the power of, and under financial obligation to, a man he despised?

There were no answers to these questions, of course, not unless Lehnsherr chose to reveal them, or Charles enquired into the matter with Sebastian Shaw. Which of course he would never do, even if he had not gained firsthand experience of the man’s despicable character. Lehnsherr’s secrets were his own, and not for Charles to pry into. He already felt honoured that Lehnsherr had trusted him with so much of his story on so short an acquaintance – he would not betray that trust.

Charles thought back over their evening’s conversation, which had roamed throughout Europe and then on into the lands of art, music, and even politics. Moira had said she’d found Lehnsherr an intelligent man, and she had not overestimated him. Despite his limited means, Lehnsherr had obviously found the time to build on a childhood education that must have been by turns spare and thorough. Charles could not recall ever meeting anyone who was so able to match him, to challenge him. Armando and Henry were clever men, of course, but Lehnsherr…Lehnsherr _spoke_ to him, in ways they did not.

He was not so cowardly as to pretend – even if it was only to himself – that it was just Lehnsherr’s intellect that attracted him, however. Charles had already noted that Lehnsherr was a well put together man, but that evening he had noticed more – the way the firelight played across the sharp lines and angles of Lehnsherr’s face, his long fingers as they curled around the arms of his chair, the peculiar intensity of his gaze, fixed for the most part on Charles.

But these were things he could never divulge his notice of, not without considerable risk to both himself and others.

Charles had long ago come to terms with certain aspects of his nature, even if society still abhorred them. It was a hard line to walk, not without its heartaches, but Charles could no more banish those inclinations than his interest in the sciences or his love of travel.

If he only had himself to think of, Charles might have risked more – now and many times in the past. Oh, he would have done so prudently, made himself as sure as he could be before taking that final step. But it would have been a risk nonetheless.

He could never do anything that would put Raven in danger, however. He loved his sister dearly, and would not be able to bear it if his ruin became her own. And then there was the Xavier name to think of, and Charles could not cast that aside either. After all, it had been his parents’ name too, and he would never do anything to sully their memory.

Yes, there had been dalliances – he wasn’t a monk – but they were the kind of encounters to fill him with a vague sense of shame. Hurried and furtive, they never engaged his emotions.

But Lehnsherr…he sensed that Lehnsherr _could_ engage him in that way. He wouldn’t be the first to have done so – Charles had had his share of unrequited, or un-acted-upon emotional entanglements – but for it to have happened so quickly… Charles knew already that he was treading on dangerous ground.

Care was needed. Charles knew better than to think he could entirely hide his regard for Lehnsherr, especially from Raven or Moira, but no one must know how deep it stirred. Particularly not Lehnsherr himself. And _especially_ not his uncle.

Charles frowned as remembrance of Shaw came upon him. His original purpose in searching out the peace and quiet so pleasantly denied him by Lehnsherr’s presence had been to decide what to do about the man, in light of their earlier discord. And while he had allowed himself to be distracted from such disagreeable contemplations, that did not mean the problem had simply vanished.

Should he throw the man out? He would be well within his rights, for Shaw’s behaviour had been reprehensible.

But throwing Shaw out meant evicting the rest of his family along with him – including Erik Lehnsherr.

Everything in Charles shied away from that course of action.

And did he really want to create such a furore? Perhaps if someone else had heard Shaw’s words, if he’d acted immediately upon provocation, it might have been deemed the right thing to do.

But waiting, and then acting – tomorrow morning, it would have to be, now – would be seen as resentful, surely, and might cause more problems that it solved. Charles was in no doubt, having now caught a glimpse of Shaw’s true character, that the man wouldn’t hesitate to accuse Charles of acting _un_ provoked, perhaps even of bearing some kind of unreasonable grudge. And while Charles was certain enough that his position and name would protect him from any real harm, was the gossip that would inevitably follow really worth it?

Charles sighed to himself. It was becoming more and more obvious that inviting Shaw this weekend had been a huge mistake. The man was coarse and vindictive and downright unpleasant.

But without the invitation Charles would never have met Erik Lehnsherr – something, Charles was realising, that perhaps went some way towards making up for the company of his uncle.

He sighed again. At any rate, he couldn’t throw anyone out this late at night. Any decision would have to wait until tomorrow. Everything would surely look better in the morning, after a good night’s sleep.

The sigh turned into a rueful laugh. He’d wanted to calm his mind, but if anything, his thoughts were now even more turbulent. He suspected a good night’s sleep was going to be hard to come by.


	4. Chapter 4

Charles took a sip of coffee and attempted to smother another yawn. As he had predicted to himself, he had not slept at all well, plagued by thoughts both pleasant and otherwise. However, he didn’t have the luxury of lying abed for half the morning to compensate, not with a house full of guests, and neither would it do to betray his tiredness to those guests. So, while he was a true devotee of the cup of tea, this morning only coffee would do, the stimulant entirely necessary if he was to maintain the façade of a genial host.

So far, only Raven, Moira, Armando and Henry were sharing the breakfast table with him, the ladies likewise obligated by duty, while the two gentlemen were by nature early risers.

For his part, Charles simultaneously dreaded and anticipated the appearance of the rest of his guests. He was very much looking forward to seeing Erik Lehnsherr again, but he was not so desirous of the presence of some other members of the party.

He had still not decided what to do about Shaw and their altercation the previous evening, although a small part of him wondered whether the man would make an appearance at all this morning. Perhaps he would even leave immediately, unwilling to remain under Charles’ roof, and thereby saving Charles from having to make his decision.

Except that if he left, he would most likely take Lehnsherr with him. It discomforted Charles a little how much that idea alarmed him.

His troubled thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the breakfast room door. For a moment he almost expected to see Randall, bearing an angry missive from Shaw. Then he tensed, realising that it was more likely to be Shaw himself.

But it was only Lehnsherr, and no one else, and Charles unobtrusively let out a sigh of relief.

“Good morning, everyone,” Lehnsherr said, and Charles told himself he was imagining that the man’s expression turned a trifle warmer when he looked towards Charles.

“Good morning,” he replied, amid the murmured chorus from everyone else. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did, thank you,” said Lehnsherr.

And it seemed to be the truth, Charles reflected, as Lehnsherr helped himself to buttered toast and a cup of coffee. Lehnsherr looked everything neat and alert, making Charles acutely aware of the dark circles he knew framed his eyes, and the stretched, thin feeling that had already led him to refill his coffee cup twice.

Lehnsherr hesitated briefly once he had collected his breakfast, and then made his way to Charles’ end of the table, settling himself into the chair next to Charles. The rules were much more relaxed around the breakfast table, and Charles knew that no one would remark Lehnsherr’s choice of seat except himself. He felt a warm sort of pleasure unfold inside him, a sensation that did more to banish his tiredness than all the coffee in the world.

“You do not look like you passed a restful night, if you do not mind my observing,” Lehnsherr said in a low voice, under the rustle of Armando and Henry’s newspapers, and Raven and Moira’s quiet chat.

“All the excitement of having a house full of guests kept me awake,” Charles said lightly, not liking that he had to dissemble to this man, but not really having a choice. “And as my quest for some peace and quiet before retiring was unsuccessful…”

Lehnsherr looked momentarily uncomfortable. “I apologise. I knew I was intruding.”

“Nonsense!” Charles exclaimed, dismayed that his jest had been taken seriously. Then he darted a quick smile at the others, all of whom had looked up at his raised voice, and continued in a quieter tone, “I promise you, it was no intrusion at all.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Lehnsherr said, smiling himself before he raised his coffee cup to his lips.

Any further pleasure Charles might have taken in Lehnsherr’s company was spoiled, however, when the breakfast room door opened again and the rest of the Shaw party entered the room, followed closely by Alex and Sean.

Dread swept over Charles once more, and he felt rather than saw the questioning look Lehnsherr was directing at him, the other man obviously having noticed Charles’ sudden tension. Steeling himself, he rose to his feet.

“Good morning, sir,” he said to Shaw, stiff but polite, and then held his breath, waiting for Shaw’s response.

Which was nothing like what he expected.

“Xavier, good morning!” Shaw replied jovially. “And what a glorious morning it is!”

That was true enough, Charles supposed, beneath his shock. Beyond the breakfast room windows the sun was shining brightly, and the sky was a crisp, clear blue. It was altogether a perfect autumn day.

“Ah, breakfast!” continued Shaw, catching sight of the tureens set along the sideboard. “And I must say, it smells delicious.”

Charles sank back into his seat, somewhat bewildered, as Shaw and the others turned their attention to the food on offer. It seemed that Shaw had either forgotten all about last night – which was impossible, Charles knew – or had decided that the matter was to be put aside.

Now all Charles had to do was decide himself if he was willing to do the same.

“Are you quite well?” someone asked, and Charles turned to find Lehnsherr regarding him with brows drawn slightly together in something that could only be called worry.

“Perfectly, thank you,” he replied with an effort, and then watched Lehnsherr’s eyes slide towards his uncle, and an expression of understanding dawn on his features.

He waited for Lehnsherr to question him further, but to his relief, after looking narrowly at his uncle for a moment Lehnsherr said nothing further, instead reaching down the table to pluck at the folded newspaper lying on the tablecloth next to Henry.

“May I?”

“Oh!” replied Henry, obviously a little startled at being addressed, surreptitiously gazing as he had been at Raven. “Yes, of course. I have finished with it.”

Lehnsherr nodded, unfolded the newspaper, and proceeded to apparently absorb himself in it, leaving a grateful Charles with a semblance of space in which to collect his thoughts.

There was nothing he could do about Shaw, he decided. If the man was determined not to acknowledge what had happened between them, then for Charles to make anything of it would certainly result in the gossip and rumour that he would rather avoid.

No, he would allow the man – and his family – to remain for the rest of the weekend. Two more days was not too long to put up with him, after all. Although, Charles resolved, he would certainly be keeping a close eye on Shaw for the remainder of his stay. He doubted very much that the man would give up on his plans regarding Raven so easily, despite Charles’ obvious disapproval of the scheme, and Charles was determined that neither Raven nor Henry should be upset any further by Shaw’s machinations.

And if they were, Shaw would remain not one moment longer under Charles’ roof, scandal and Erik Lehnsherr notwithstanding. He might wish to continue – and develop, indeed – his acquaintance with Lehnsherr, but not at the expense of the well-being of his sister or friend.

Lehnsherr was not as important than either of them, he told himself sternly.

Charles felt a little better for having made a decision, even if he was left with the uncomfortable feeling that it was not really a decision at all. He was just in time, as well, as once more his private thoughts were interrupted, this time by Alex, who, dropping into the chair on the other side of Charles, observed, “I see you are not coming shooting with us this morning, Charles.”

Charles blinked, and then noticed what he had not before – namely that Alex, Sean and Shaw were all dressed in shooting tweeds.

“Not shooting, Xavier,” Shaw exclaimed, before Charles could answer. “Why-ever not? Did I misunderstand your invitation? I am sure you mentioned that there would be shooting this weekend.”

Charles gritted his teeth against Shaw’s repeated informality, very sure that he had not invited the man to be so familiar with him, especially after last night, but once again unable to do much about it without causing a scene. “You did not misunderstand, sir,” he replied. “You are most welcome to shoot, and as you see, Mr Summers and Mr Cassidy will be happy to accompany you. But I’m afraid I do not care for shooting myself.”

He shrugged self-deprecatingly in the face of Shaw’s surprise, and the once again sensed rather than seen raised eyebrow from Lehnsherr. “It is unusual, I know, but I do not enjoy it much. I do, however, keep plenty of game on the estate, and my gamekeeper has been instructed to take good care of you.”

“But will you not walk out with us?” Shaw persisted. “You may not shoot, but you cannot pass up an opportunity to enjoy this glorious morning, as well as some good company.”

“Normally I would,” said Charles. “But unfortunately my steward had brought some business to my attention that I must deal with.”

“Oh, surely that can wait. It cannot be that urgent.”

“I’m afraid it is, and I am sorry to say that it will prevent me from going with you.”

“Never mind, we’ll still have a jolly time without Charles,” Sean said enthusiastically. “And there will be all the more birds for us, you see.”

Shaw did not appear to think that sufficient compensation for the lack of Charles’ company, and Charles was pricked by a sense of foreboding as he suddenly thought of Shaw, Alex and Sean all being at each other’s mercy for an entire morning. He was on the point of changing his mind when Armando spoke up.

“I will go with you, I think,” he said. “I’ve never seen a proper English shooting party, and I’m rather curious.”

Charles shot him a grateful look, promising himself that he would express his thanks to Armando properly later.

“Well, _I_ am going riding this morning,” Raven said suddenly, her voice carrying down the table as she neatly cut off any further protests from Shaw. “Moira, will you come with me?”

Moira smiled. “How many times have you asked me that question, and how many times have I said no?” she said. “I shall take my walk round the gardens as usual, and then I must speak to Mrs Spriggs about one or two matters.”

Raven looked faintly guilty, knowing that she should be the one to speak to the housekeeper, but Moira merely smiled again and patted her arm. “Enjoy your ride, my dear,” she said kindly.

“Thank you, I shall,” Raven replied. Then she looked along the table. “Now, would anyone like to accompany _me_?” she asked “Mrs Shaw? Miss Salvadore?” She was obviously trying to play the proper hostess, and Charles was suddenly proud of her.

Emma Shaw demurred, murmuring something about a letter to write, but to everyone’s surprise, Miss Salvadore nodded. “I would like to,” she said quietly. “If it is not too much trouble.”

“Of course not,” said Raven. “I’m sure we’ll be able to find a horse in the stables to suit you.”

“You may use Ariadne, if you like,” Charles said. “She could probably do with the exercise.” He smiled at Miss Salvadore. “She is spirited, but very patient with slightly less able riders, such as myself.”

“I rode when I lived in Spain,” Miss Salvadore revealed, her eyes suddenly alight with an enthusiasm that was an almost shocking contrast to her previous subdued manner. “I can manage a horse with a bit of spirit.”

“Well, in that case, I am looking forward to testing my skill against yours,” Raven said. “We shall have a very enjoyable morning.”

“Perhaps I’d better go with them,” said Henry to Charles. “To make sure that nothing untoward happens.”

His transparency was obvious enough that half the people at the table smothered smiles, particularly Charles, as he knew full well that Henry had something of a fear of horses. But love, it seemed, overcame all terrors.

“We would be happy to have you, Henry,” Raven said, as aware as Charles of Henry’s dislike, but obviously equally desirous of his company.

“Well, it seems that everyone has found something with which to occupy themselves,” Charles said, “But if anyone should change their minds, the house and grounds have plenty of amusements to offer. Gardens, library, billiard room, they are all at your disposal. But as for myself, I’m afraid I must get on and see my steward. He will be waiting for me.”

He drained the last dregs of coffee from his cup and stood up quickly, very aware that both Lehnsherr and Shaw had their eyes on him. However, much as he would have liked to remain in the company of the former, a desire to escape from the latter drove him unwillingly from the room.

*~*~*~*~*

Ensconced in the library, Charles slumped into the chair behind his desk. He was a terrible host, he decided. He shouldn’t let his personal dislikes – or likes – dictate on whom he bestowed his attention. But the idea of watching Shaw shoot helpless birds all morning – an activity he was sure the man would take great pleasure in – made him shudder. The excuse of business with his steward had slipped out almost before he had been aware he was going to offer it.

And now he would have to find something to occupy his time with until luncheon, and endure his self-imposed solitude as punishment for his dereliction of duty.

He was just settling that he would go over the estate’s accounts, ready for his _genuine_ weekly meeting with his steward on Monday, when there was a knock on the library door, and without waiting for a summons, Lehnsherr entered.

Charles endeavoured to look busy, but knew he had failed when he heard a dry chuckle.

“I cannot help but notice,” Lehnsherr observed, “that your steward is not here.”

“Ah yes, I…” A dozen excuses sprang instantly to mind – _he’s just stepped out for a moment; he’s running late; I mistook the time_ – but all died on Charles’ lips. “Oh, very well, you have found me out,” he admitted.

Lehnsherr smiled knowingly.

“You will not tell your uncle, will you?” Charles asked. “It is unpardonably rude of me, I know, but I…well…”

“You forget who you are speaking to,” Lehnsherr said. “I am perfectly aware of the many possible reasons for your little fabrication.” He paused for a moment, and then clarified, “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you. And if it’s any consolation, I really was going to look over some papers, so as to not completely waste my ill-gotten time.”

“I am very much consoled,” Lehnsherr replied, deadpan, and then smiled again.

“Oh, don’t tease me,” Charles muttered, and then a moment later recalled his manners. If he could not play the proper host to Shaw, he could at least play it to his nephew.

But Lehnsherr did not appear at all bothered by the informality, his smile remaining firmly in place as he fixed Charles with an appraising look. “Your observation earlier was wrong, by the way,” he said, exhibiting once more his talent for turning the subject of conversation with no warning whatsoever.

“Which observation was that?”

“That everyone had found something to occupy themselves. _I_ have not, not yet.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to exclude you,” said Charles, wondering how on earth he could have done such a thing in the first place. “But I meant it when I said the house and grounds were at everyone’s disposal. Please do avail yourself of them.”

“Miss MacTaggert’s idea of a walk in the fresh air seems attractive,” said Lehnsherr. “But it would be rather dull to walk alone.”

The unasked question was clear, and Charles suddenly felt a little flustered. “Oh, but the others…your uncle…”

“Left several minutes ago with the rest of the shooting party, and won’t be back until lunchtime. Your sister and her fellow riders are likewise gone, and I think we can rely on Miss MacTaggert not to betray you if she should spot us, don’t you?”

“And your aunt…?”

“Is interested in very little apart from herself, I believe,” said Lehnsherr, rather ungallantly. “I doubt she would think it worth the effort to make a fuss, even if she did see you.”

“Well…”

“But if you would rather attempt to keep up the charade, I will not stop you.” Lehnsherr suddenly seemed to realise that Charles’ prevaricating might stem from something other than fear of discovery in his lie, and it was alarming the way his expression closed off suddenly.

Charles rose hastily from his seat as the other man turned to go. “Wait!” he exclaimed.

Lehnsherr did so.

“I would be pleased to walk with you,” Charles said awkwardly, and then sighed at his own stiffness.

Lehnsherr, however, unbent a trifle. “I would welcome your company,” he said, looking amused. “As I believe I have already indicated.”

Charles fought down the pleasure those words inspired. He would take them at nothing more than face value, he told himself. Lehnsherr referred to a pleasant walk in the garden, and nothing more.

*~*~*~*~*

They slipped out of a side door together, Charles feeling rather like a truanting schoolboy, and made their way across the back lawn towards the shrubbery. Charles had offered to give Lehnsherr a tour of the grounds, starting with the lake, and looping back through the gardens to the house. Lehnsherr had assented to the idea readily.

They had wound their way through the rather wild shrubbery (both Charles and Raven preferred the grounds in a more natural state, rather than being pruned, trimmed and manicured to within an inch of their lives), and were walking down the gently sloping path to the lake before either of them spoke.

“I feel I owe you an apology,” Lehnsherr said, sounding uncharacteristically subdued.

“Whatever for?” Charles asked.

“For last night.”

“Really, do not concern yourself about it. I’ve told you, you were not disturbing me at all…”

“Not that,” Lehnsherr interrupted. He hesitated, and then continued, still awkward and almost reticent. “I spoke to you about my parents last night – more than I have spoken about them to anyone in quite some time, in fact.”

Charles did not know quite what to do with this confession, and so remained silent.

“But I neglected to ask you about _your_ parents,” Lehnsherr continued. “I believe they died only a few years ago, far more recently than mine.”

“Oh,” said Charles, surprised. “Yes, you are correct, it was about three years ago.”

“I should have offered my condolences. Instead I selfishly remained fixated on my own tale of woes, which cannot have been very interesting for you.”

Charles halted abruptly in the middle of the path, forcing Lehnsherr to do likewise. It took considerable effort not to reach out and rest his hand on Lehnsherr’s arm, a tangible sign of the comfort and reassurance he wanted to offer. Instead, he tried to convey it with only words.

“Please, do not think of it for another moment. I was honoured that you would entrust me with your past – your memories – like that.” Charles did not offer sympathy, or pity, as he sensed that neither would be welcome. “I admire you very much,” was all he added, and then very determinedly held Lehnsherr’s eye, despite the instinct that impelled him to run and hide after uttering such a thing.

However, much to Charles’ surprise, Lehnsherr was the one to break eye contact, looking aside for a moment as he murmured, “Thank you.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Charles made an encouraging motion, and they resumed their walk.

For a few more minutes neither of them spoke again, and then Charles gathered his breath and his resolution.

“I loved my parents very much,” he said quietly, “but I resented them for dying.”

It was a confession he had made to no one, not even Raven, but Lehnsherr’s honesty of the previous evening deserved nothing less in return.

“Resented them?” Lehnsherr asked.

“For leaving me with all this,” Charles elaborated, sweeping his arm out in a gesture that encompassed everything around them, “when I was still so young.”

“How old were you?”

“Not even twenty-five. I was still enjoying life. Seeing the world, making big plans to return to university and distinguish myself. I was going to be clever and brilliant and make everyone notice me.”

“I think they would have noticed you all the same,” Lehnsherr observed.

“Yes, but only because of my name,” Charles replied impatiently. “Merely for being Lord Xavier. I wanted more than that.”

The silence that followed this pronouncement was rather accusing, or so Charles fancied. He felt himself flush.

“You must think me very spoiled,” he said, unable even to look at Lehnsherr suddenly. “Complaining about my money and title and privilege when you had none of it.”

“You forget,” said Lehnsherr, “I could have had all of that too, if I had stayed with my uncle. But I chose not to. I don’t begrudge you your riches. So long as you appreciate them.”

This last was rather pointed, and Charles hastened to articulate his assurances. “I do, of course,” he said. “This is my home, and I love it dearly. And although the responsibility may weigh heavy at times, that is the nature of my position, and I embrace it willingly. I am ashamed when I think of my resentment. I miss my parents every day, but that is because I love them, not because I wish they would come back and relieve my burdens.”

“I am sorry,” Lehnsherr said, after a moment. “It was not my intention to lecture or reprimand. It is not my place.”

“But if friends cannot say such things to each other, then who can?” Charles replied. Then, feeling greatly daring, he added, “We are friends, are we not?”

“I suppose we are,” said Lehnsherr. He laughed, a somewhat bitter sound.

“What is it?”

“Only that I have never had many friends. My life has never seemed to leave time for them. I’m not sure what do to with one.”

“Well, for a start, you should lecture and reprimand them when they start to sound ridiculously self-pitying.”

That surprised a more genuine laugh out of Lehnsherr, and Charles chuckled too. “In any case,” he added, “I think I prefer your brand of lecturing – it’s not a patch on the ones my sister can deliver if she is so minded. I feel as if I’ve been let off rather lightly!”

“Then I must brush up on my technique, if I am to be a true friend to you,” Lehnsherr said. “Perhaps your sister could give me some advice on the subject.”

Charles gave a mock shudder. “I can see I’m going to have to make sure never to leave you two alone together,” he said, and then experienced a moment of confused discomfort as he abruptly remembered that this was exactly what Sebastian Shaw might be hoping for.

If Lehnsherr noticed his uneasiness, he didn’t betray it, instead murmuring, somewhat sardonically, “Ah, what it is to be rich.”

Charles realised they had reached the lake, the path having led them down through the small copse that blanketed part of the hillside, hiding the water until one emerged from the trees to behold a very pretty vista – the lake nestled in the bottom of the valley, with the land rising up gently again on the other side until the golden green of the meadows met the crisp blue of the sky.

“This was one of my favourite spots when I was a boy,” he said. “My sister and I used to swim here in the summer.”

“And now?” Lehnsherr asked.

“Now I am far too aware of the slimy pondweed and slippery fish that may attack me at any moment,” Charles said, shuddering exaggeratedly again.

“A pity,” Lehnsherr said. “Still, I suppose it would be too cold to swim now, anyway.”

“Much too cold,” Charles confirmed. “I don’t know about you, but catching pneumonia would not be the perfect end to my weekend.”

“Perhaps not,” agreed Lehnsherr. He looked out over the lake. “How large is it?”

“Not too large to walk round, if that is your suggestion,” Charles said.

“Then shall we?”

“By all means.”

The path around the lake had become a little overgrown – Charles made a mental note to alert the groundskeeper – but not so much so that it impeded their progress. A little earlier in the year and it would have made a pleasant stroll, but the autumnal chill in the air forced them to keep their pace relatively brisk, or risk the cold seeping under their coats and scarves.

As they walked, Charles told Lehnsherr about the estate, as well as a few stories from his childhood – mostly tales of the scrapes he and Raven had landed themselves in – that made the other man smile and, on one or two occasions, roll his eyes fondly.

And to Charles’ surprise, Lehnsherr seemed inspired to relate a few tales of his own, telling Charles about odd moments from his own childhood in Germany before his parents had died. It was almost embarrassing to hear how happy Lehnsherr’s family had been, even in their poverty, and compare that with a childhood in which Charles and Raven had been given everything they’d ever wanted. Charles wondered uncomfortably whether he could have been half as happy as Lehnsherr if he’d had so little when he was young.

The path, when it finished skirting the lake, wound back up the hill on its way to the more formal gardens near the house. Charles, normally able to tramp around the estate with ease in the company of his steward or groundskeeper, felt the sleeplessness of the previous night beginning to have an effect again as he toiled upwards at Lehnsherr’s side. He managed to keep his exertions hidden until they reached the top, however, when he became conscious of the fact that he was breathing rather heavily. By contrast, Lehnsherr seemed barely out of breath.

“Are you all right?” Lehnsherr asked.

“I am perfectly fine,” Charles said, between breaths, “and really, not so lazy as I must appear. Only, my lack of sleep appears to be catching up with me.”

Lehnsherr looked chagrined. “I had not considered that when I asked you to join me,” he said. “We’ll go back to the house.”

“No, no, really, that’s not necessary,” Charles disclaimed. “Only give me a moment. Besides, I don’t want you to have to cut short your walk.”

“My walk will wait for another time. What kind of friend would I be if I allowed you to overexert yourself when you are still tired?”

“I see you are taking to this friendship business like a duck to water,” Charles said dryly. “Very well, a compromise. We will take the most direct route back through the gardens and then walk around the house until we reach our means of ingress. Will that satisfy your notion of friendship?”

“I suppose it will have to,” Lehnsherr replied. “But rest assured that if I think you are flagging, we will be going inside immediately, even if I have to bundle you in through a window to effect it.”

Charles stared for a moment, the vehemence in Lehnsherr’s voice not to be gainsaid, and then nodded quickly. “Let’s hope it won’t come to that,” he said.

Lehnsherr smiled suddenly, and more widely than he had all morning, displaying a somewhat alarming amount of teeth. Or, at least, it would have been alarming if Charles hadn’t been arrested by the sudden awareness of just how _much_ he liked that smile, despite its somewhat disconcerting aspect.

“Let us hope so,” Lehnsherr said, sounding as if he wished for just the opposite.

Mutely, Charles gestured towards the path to the gardens, and as Lehnsherr preceded him, tried desperately to school his expression into something less revealing.

*~*~*~*~*

By the time they reached the house, Charles felt sufficiently in control of himself again to tell Lehnsherr something of its architecture and history (although not as much as Raven would have been able to expound upon, he was sure), taking a certain amount of refuge in the lecture he had given to other guests, almost too many times to count. They made their way along the path in front of the house’s east wing, and turned the corner on to the broad gravelled expanse of the drive, the front façade looming imperiously over them as they walked.

“What can be going on there, do you suppose?” Lehnsherr said, interrupting Charles’ monologue about some improvements his father had been planning to make, and which Charles was still rather in favour of, if only he could find the time.

Charles looked, and saw three figures clustered at the top of the steps that led to the front door. Peering closer, he realised that two of them were Moira and Randall. The third he didn’t recognise at all.

As they hurried over, it became apparent that Randall had squarely planted himself in the open doorway, stolidly denying the stranger access, while Moira stood close by, giving him resolute support. The stranger appeared quite excited, gesturing wildly, and did not notice Charles and Lehnsherr’s approach until Moira’s eyes lighted on them, and she said, with some relief, “Here is Lord Xavier.”

The stranger turned instantly, although the way his gaze darted between them betrayed that he did not know which of them was the master of the house until Charles asked sternly, “What on earth is going on here?”

“You are Lord Xavier, yes?” the stranger asked, eager and impatient. His voice was heavily accented, and after a moment Charles placed it as Russian. He had the features to match – sharp and craggy, with a hawk-like nose and a small black beard that only emphasised the angles of his face.

“I am,” Charles replied coolly. “And who might you be, sir?”

“You must allow me inside,” the stranger said, entirely ignoring Charles’ enquiry. “I must speak to Mr Shaw.”

“Shaw?” said Charles, and at his side felt Lehnsherr go queerly still and alert. “What do you want with Mr Shaw?”

“I have very important information that he must hear.”

“It seems to be quite urgent, my lord,” Randall put in, his icy tones indicating that he had grave doubts about the true importance of the man’s request. “He has been insisting on seeing Mr Shaw for some minutes, and will not take no for an answer.”

Charles nodded quickly, and then returned his attention to the stranger. “Mr Shaw is not here,” he said. “As I am sure my butler has already told you.”

“Ah, but I know he stays here this weekend,” the stranger replied. “I _must_ see him.”

“Well, I am afraid you cannot,” said Charles, keeping his temper with some difficulty. “And now you will leave, sir. Or do I need to call the authorities to escort you from my land?”

An ugly look passed over the stranger’s face. “Shaw will regret not seeing me,” he said. “He will _regret_ it.”

“Sir, I say again…” Charles began. He had no doubt that he and Lehnsherr could handle this man, with Randall’s assistance, if it became necessary, but he was worried for Moira, and the thought of embroiling Lehnsherr – one of his guests – in any unpleasantness left a sour taste in his mouth.

The stranger sneered at him. “Fine, I leave now,” he said. “But you tell Mr Shaw, if he wishes to hear something to his advantage, I stay at the inn by the road. I will wait for him there.”

He flung himself down the steps before Charles could make any further response, and together they all watched him stride off down the drive.

“Should I send some of the stable lads after him, to keep an eye on him?” Randall asked, clearly of the opinion that the man was capable of committing all kinds of mischief before he left the estate.

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Charles replied. “But if he returns, alert me immediately.” He turned to Moira. “Are you all right, my dear?”

“Perfectly, Charles,” she said calmly, although he couldn’t help but notice she looked a trifle pale. “I couldn’t ignore him, when I saw him standing in the porch – although Randall was already doing an admirable job of keeping him at bay.”

“Yes, I do believe Randall could keep the assembled hordes of Genghis Khan at bay if he really wanted to,” Charles said, more to make Moira smile than anything else.

Randall sniffed. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Perhaps you could take Miss MacTaggert inside, Randall, and bring her some tea. Mr Lehnsherr and I will be in momentarily.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Moira looked a little exasperated by Charles’ fussing, but nonetheless allowed herself to be led inside by Randall, leaving Charles and Lehnsherr alone on the steps.

“I’m sorry you had to be involved in that,” Charles said. “Not the pleasantest end to our walk.”

“I am only glad that nothing untoward occurred,” replied Lehnsherr. “No apologies are needed.”

“Who was he, do you think?” Charles said, squinting at the retreating figure of the mysterious Russian. “He seemed very desperate to speak to your uncle – have you ever seen him before?”

“No, never. To my knowledge he has not called at my uncle’s house while I have been there.” A doubtful expression crossed Lehnsherr’s face. “Of course, that is not to say he has never been there. My uncle can be rather…secretive about his affairs sometimes.”

“Well, I shall have to tell him about this, of course. What a pity the fellow didn’t seem to want to leave his name. It’s all very odd.”

“I believe you may get the chance to tell my uncle about it sooner rather than later,” Lehnsherr said.

Charles frowned, about to enquire what he meant, but then he heard it – the crunch of tyres on gravel that announced the advent of the cart that had accompanied the shooting party to carry back their trophies. A moment later the cart itself appeared around the corner of the house, the rest of the party trudging along behind it.

The naughty schoolboy feeling returned to Charles abruptly. Wearing his coat and scarf, it was obvious that he had not just stepped out for a moment to deal with a visitor, but had in fact been out walking when he’d told Shaw he was too busy for excursions.

Oh well, there was nothing for it but to confess all, he supposed. He only wished it wasn’t _this_ man he had to confess to.

“Hello, everyone!” he called, waving as the van came to a halt. “Did you have a profitable morning?”

“I am no expert, but I believe they did,” said Armando, gesturing towards the back of the cart as everyone clustered around, Alex and Sean demonstrating that the racks and hooks were impressively loaded with birds.

“And did you enjoy yourself, Armando?” Charles asked, a little anxiously.

“It was very interesting,” Armando replied. “Although I don’t think I shall be taking up the sport myself.”

“You should have come with us, Xavier.” Shaw broke into the conversation, looking very pleased with himself. “You missed quite the demonstration.”

“Yes, I would estimate that Mr Shaw shot at least half of the birds you see here,” said Armando. “He was very…adept.”

“Congratulations,” Charles said to Shaw. “Most impressive. I am glad there was a sufficient stock of birds for you try your talents on.”

“But have you been out yourself, Xavier?” Shaw asked, not diverted by the praise as Charles had hoped he might be.

“I asked Lord Xavier to accompany me on a walk,” Lehnsherr said. Charles suppressed his surprise, and tried not to betray that he had been unaware of Lehnsherr coming up behind him.

“Is that so? But what about your urgent business, Xavier?”

“Satisfactorily completed, thank you,” Charles said, keeping his face as blank as he could. “But quicker than I had anticipated, as it turned out. Mr Lehnsherr was good enough to put up with my company when I had the idea of getting some fresh air. Business can be rather constricting at times, I’m sure you will agree.”

“You should have joined us at the shoot,” said Shaw, the inference heavy.

“My business was not completed as quickly as all _that_ ,” Charles amended hurriedly. “Unfortunately, by the time I had caught you up, I’m sure that you would already have been turning for home. No, it was necessary to restrict myself to the garden, I’m afraid. But happily your nephew was on hand to keep me pleasantly engaged.”

Shaw looked as if he did not much care for this piece of information. The look he turned on Lehnsherr was thoroughly unfriendly, albeit brief enough that Charles was sure no one but himself and its recipient would have noticed it.

“Well, I am glad to hear it,” Shaw said. “I would not like to think that Erik was imposing on you in any way, Xavier.”

“Oh, nothing could be further from the truth.”

“Hmmm, of course.” There was suspicion in Shaw’s glance this time, and Charles once more exerted himself to keep his face smooth and blank. Then Shaw smiled suddenly, and laughed. “Well, now, gentlemen,” he said, raising his voice to include everyone in the vicinity, “I’m sure we all deserve a celebratory drink, in honour of our successful morning. What do you think?”

Alex, Sean and Armando made assenting noises, and Charles was forced to nod his agreement too.

“Very well, then, let us go inside. I shall propose a toast, I think – to Lord Xavier’s birds.”

“One moment, uncle.”

Lehnsherr’s cool instruction arrested Shaw’s progress towards the front steps. “Well, Erik, what is it?” he asked.

“You have had a visitor today, sir.”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Charles exclaimed. “Your nephew is quite correct, sir. A man called for you this morning.”

“A man? What man?” Shaw seemed impatient and unconcerned in equal measure, but there was something in his expression – a certain keenness – that indicated he was not as uninterested as he appeared.

“He has only just gone away, in fact, and he did not leave his name, but he seemed very eager to see you. He said he had some information for you.”

“Didn’t leave his name? What did he look like, this man?”

“He was Russian,” Lehnsherr put in. “And not very…civilised.” It was perhaps not obvious, but Charles retained the distinct impression that Lehnsherr was just as interested to hear Shaw’s reaction to the mysterious Russian stranger as he was. 

“Russian, you say? I’m afraid I don’t know any Russians.” But Charles had spotted the queer start Shaw had given, quickly suppressed, as the stranger’s nationality was mentioned, and he was sure Lehnsherr had noted it too.

“He was, in fact, rather ill-mannered,” Charles added. “It did not seem politic to allow him into the house. I apologise if I have acted out of turn.”

“No matter, no matter.” Shaw waved away the apology, his genial façade returning. “As I say, I do not know the man, and this is your house, after all, Xavier. You must do as you see fit.”

“Thank you,” said Charles, a little stiffly. “If you would like to see the gentleman, sir, he said he would be staying in an inn nearby – I believe he meant the Coach and Horses on the Burford road.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Shaw replied. “Unfortunately, in my line of business, all sorts of people think they can take advantage. No doubt this Russian just thought he would try his luck with some information that was probably not half so important as he believed it. No, I think we will leave him to enjoy the pleasures of the Coach and Horses in peace.”

“As you wish. But if he does return, will you see him?”

“I doubt he will come back,” Shaw said. “But if he does, I shall see him. And then I’ll send him away with a flea in his ear. That should give him something to think about, eh?” Shaw smiled again, and rubbed his hands together. “Now, what about that drink? Standing around in the cold isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

And without waiting for response or agreement, he strode away up the steps and disappeared into the house.

Charles made to follow, and then hesitated. He was not disappointed when Lehnsherr observed, “I believe my uncle knows more about his visitor than he is letting on.”

“That struck me, too,” Charles admitted. Then he shook his head a little at himself. “Listen to me, speculating about my guests in such a manner.”

“Perhaps my uncle deserves such speculation.”

“That does not change the fact that it is the height of rudeness for me to do so,” Charles said. “I fear you are a bad influence on me, Mr Lehnsherr.”

He had not meant the words to sound playful, or flirtatious, and he flushed as soon as they had left his mouth. Lehnsherr, however, merely nodded in something like apology and turned away up the steps, leaving Charles once more flustered and following in his wake.

*~*~*~*~*

Inside, they discovered everyone assembled in the drawing room, including Raven, Henry and Miss Salvadore, who had returned from their ride a short time before. Raven had the appearance of someone who had thoroughly enjoyed themselves, and even Miss Salvadore seemed to have gained a little more spirit, and had a dash of colour in her cheeks that was not normally present.

Henry, however, seemed somewhat ruffled. “Henry, my dear chap,” Charles exclaimed, going over to him. “Whatever has happened to you?”

“Ah, Charles.” Henry gave an embarrassed little cough. “I’m afraid I had a bit of an accident – or two – while we were out.”

“Poor Mr McCoy fell off his horse,” Raven elaborated. “Twice.”

“Are you all right?” Charles asked, alarmed.

“I am,” Henry assured him. “I will have a few bumps, I suspect, but I think it is my pride that is most bruised.”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, I assure you, Mr McCoy,” Raven said. “He climbed straight back on to the horse both times, Charles,” she continued. “He was not afraid at all. It was perfectly splendid.”

“Good man,” said Charles, clapping him on the shoulder and then smiling apologetically when Henry winced.

“Well, I could not leave Miss Xavier and Miss Salvadore to continue their ride alone,” Henry said. “I really had no choice.”

“It was very brave of you, Mr McCoy,” said Raven, and Charles watched, amused, as Henry coughed again, and then stammered something about begging a cup of tea from Moira before retreating hastily.

“I believe you have flustered Henry a little, Raven,” said Charles, and then laughed as Raven made a noise of dismay and gave him a small shove.

But her irritation soon fled as she watched Henry across the room. “He is a dear man,” she said fondly. “Really, many men would not have had the courage to continue after the second time. It was far more impressive than those show-offs who like to demonstrate their prowess by jumping over high hedges and beating each other in races.”

Charles smiled down at her and pressed a kiss to her hair. It appeared that Raven was very much on the way to being in love, and he could not be happier for her, or think of any man he would rather call brother.

“I think I shall also go and beg a cup of tea from Moira,” Raven said a moment later. “All that exercise has made me quite thirsty. Can I bring you one, Charles?”

“No, thank you,” Charles replied. He watched affectionately as Raven crossed the room to Moira’s tea table, and laid her hand solicitously on Henry’s arm as she obviously enquired again after his health. Henry shook his head and smiled, and they fell into conversation over the teapot.

On the point of crossing the room himself and asking Randall to provide him with a somewhat stronger beverage, Charles was distracted from his purpose by the sight of Shaw and his wife standing close together, having what was obviously a discussion of some heat. They were quiet, not attracting attention unless one happened to glance at them, but the anger in Shaw’s face, and the freezing haughtiness in Emma Shaw’s, was unmistakeable.

Charles was too far away to discern the content of the conversation, and he looked round quickly to see if Lehnsherr had likewise noticed the hushed altercation.

But Lehnsherr was speaking with Armando, and didn’t seem to be aware of his uncle and aunt’s argument, and by the time Charles turned back Shaw had disengaged from his wife and was coming towards Charles.

“What, Xavier, no drink yet? Really, I must insist. I cannot propose a toast if you will not join me.”

“My apologies, I am just on my way to procure one, if you will wait a few moments.”

And Charles was forced to continue his aborted trip over to Randall, with Shaw dogging his steps the entire way.


	5. Chapter 5

“Thank you, Harris, that will do.”

“Very good, my lord.” Charles’ valet nodded, collected together a few worn garments to take downstairs, and departed quietly, leaving Charles alone.

Charles crossed to the mirror and examined himself for a few moments, brushing some lint from his shoulder and smoothing back an errant lock of hair before he caught himself and sighed. He could not deny that he wanted to appear at his best tonight, but all this fussing was ridiculous, not to mention a little pathetic. It wouldn’t do.

Sighing again, his eyes went to the clock on the shelf. It would be nearly an hour before anyone started assembling for dinner. Was it too early? Would he and his invitation be unwelcome? Presumptuous, even?

There was nothing to do but try it, he supposed. After all, he had hurried through dressing, much to Harris’ bemusement, precisely for the purpose. And with his guests departing tomorrow, there were very few remaining opportunities.

Charles nodded determinedly to his reflection, tugged at the front of his waistcoat to straighten it, and then left his room.

He didn’t reach his destination unnoticed, however. As he made his way down the corridor, another door opened and Raven’s maid emerged suddenly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, my lord, I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s quite all right, Brooke, no harm done.”

“Is that Charles out there?” came Raven’s voice, and the next moment her head appeared around the edge of the door. From her bare shoulder, Charles could tell she had not finished dressing yet, and when she saw him fully attired her eyebrows shot up.

“Brooke, I believe you said you were going to fetch some spare buttons,” she said pointedly, and the maid nodded and bustled quickly away.

“Aren’t you a little early, Charles?” Raven continued. “You’ll be very bored downstairs all on your own.”

“Ah, well, there’s bound to be someone else around,” Charles replied, very aware suddenly that he had not come up with a suitable cover story for his extreme punctuality. “Someone to have a drink with, that sort of thing.”

Raven gave him a sly look. “There might be,” she said. “Mr Lehnsherr, for example.”

“Raven…”

“You like him, don’t you?”

“He is very interesting,” Charles replied carefully.

He had never been quite sure how much Raven knew of his…inclinations. He had certainly never discussed it with her, not wanting to subject her to the embarrassment, or weight of the absolute knowledge, but there were certain moments, such as this one, that led him to believe that she had deduced more than he was perhaps comfortable with.

“Well, it’s nice that you have a friend, I suppose,” said Raven.

“I have friends,” Charles protested.

“I know you do,” Raven told him. “But it can never hurt to have another.” She smiled at him, more gently this time. “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she added, and then, when Charles stared at her, gestured impatiently. “Well, go on then. Off you go.”

Charles stared for a moment longer after the door had clicked shut in his face, and then shook himself a little and continued on his way, feeling very much like he had just been given Raven’s blessing.

The guest rooms were located in a different part of the house to the family rooms, and as Charles made his way along the corridors, footsteps muffled by the thick carpets, he tried to summon up some courage. Raven’s approbation was all very well, but there was still the chance – more than a chance – that he would be rebuffed, and left feeling foolish and stupid.

These thoughts carried him to his destination before he had made his peace with them, and he hesitated for a moment, still undecided, before, in a flash of resolution, he raised his hand and knocked softly on the door in front of him.

As soon as he had done so he glanced around, up and down the corridor, very aware of the number of potential witnesses behind other closed doors if they should be alerted to his presence. As such, he almost missed the summons from inside the room, and was therefore forced to enter somewhat more hastily than he’d intended, to compensate for the delay.

Lehnsherr stood by the window, gazing out at the darkness that had fallen over the estate. He did not immediately acknowledge Charles’ entrance, despite inviting him in, and Charles had a moment to recognise that Lehnsherr was fully dressed for dinner, just as Charles himself was. He was a somewhat arresting sight, straight and tall and framed by the curtains, one hand slid casually into a pocket while the other was raised to hold the fabric aside as he looked out – although what he might be looking at in the black of the night, Charles could not imagine.

It was almost as if he was waiting precisely for Charles’ arrival. As if this was a pre-arranged assignation…

Then Lehnsherr let the curtain swing back across the window and turned to towards Charles, and the moment was broken.

“Good evening,” he said easily.

“Yes, good evening,” returned Charles, replying just a split second too late. Warm amusement filled Lehnsherr’s eyes. Charles exerted himself, and continued in a smoother tone, “I wonder, I seem to be dressed a little earlier than normal, and I thought perhaps you might like to join me for a drink before dinner?”

“I would,” said Lehnsherr, simply and straightforwardly enough that Charles suddenly felt that all his worrying and indecision had been rather redundant. “I had actually been wondering how to occupy myself until dinner. I was on the point of venturing down to the library anyway. You wouldn’t have minded, I hope?”

“Not in the slightest. Indeed, if you would prefer to be alone, I’ll leave you to it.”

“I would prefer no such thing. I believe it is now my turn to tell you that your company is not unwelcome.” Lehnsherr smiled, his amusement returning. “Although it is lucky that you find me dressed and unoccupied.”

“I had no expectations,” Charles said, feeling utterly transparent. “It was the idea of a moment, I can assure you.”

“It is my uncle’s doing,” Lehnsherr continued, not reacting to a falsehood that Charles was sure must be printed in bold letters on his forehead. “He prefers _not_ to wait around after he has dressed, so he insists that Quested attends to me first, and then him. Thus I am the one left to dangle for an hour.”

“I would have provided you with your own man for the duration of your stay, if I had known,” Charles said, feeling that he very much _ought_ to have known – hadn’t he only seen one valet arrive with Shaw’s party, after all? “George would have been happy to assist, I’m sure.”

“Thank you, but it does not matter,” Lehnsherr replied. “The inconvenience is slight, and besides, if you had done so I would not be ready now and would not therefore be able to join you for that drink. So it has all worked out for the best.”

“I suppose so.” Uncomfortably, Charles wondered if Lehnsherr thought he had arranged things so to engineer this situation, deliberately not offering the man a temporary valet. But then he shook off the paranoia – he could never have guaranteed the result of such an action. “Come,” he said, smiling weakly, “shall we go down?”

“By all means.”

The corridor outside was empty as they emerged from Lehnsherr’s room and Lehnsherr shut the door softly behind them. But as Charles led the way back towards the stairs, past the ranks of closed doors, from behind one of them came the sound of raised voices, muffled but still clear enough for the words to be understood.

“Imbecile! Don’t forget, you stupid oaf, that I can send you straight back where you came from. Get out of my sight! I’ll finish dressing myself!”

There was a thud, as if something heavy had fallen, or been thrown, and the next moment the door opened and Janos Quested, Shaw’s valet, slipped out into the corridor.

The man was pale, and startled visibly upon seeing Charles and Lehnsherr standing there. However, a moment later he had smoothed away all emotion, pulling Shaw’s bedroom door shut before straightening up under their scrutiny.

“Is everything all right, Quested?” Lehnsherr asked.

“Yes, sir, thank you. Mr Shaw has finished with my services for this evening, that is all. He prefers to do things for himself sometimes,” replied Quested blandly. He behaved as if the two gentlemen could have heard nothing of Shaw’s anger, and Charles felt it politic to follow suit.

“I should return downstairs then, if I were you,” he said. “And if Mr Shaw does require anything further, I’m sure my man Harris will be able to assist you if you need it.”

“Thank you, my lord,” said Quested again, his eyes deferentially lowered. He took a step backwards, away from them. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

“Yes, of course.” Charles watched Quested walk away in the direction of the servants’ stairs, and then silently indicated to Lehnsherr that they should continue themselves.

“I believe my uncle found Quested in Spain,” Lehnsherr said, as they reached the landing overlooking the hall. “The man was not in service at the time, but my uncle took him on nonetheless. A moment of charity that he may regret on occasion, I suspect.”

The volunteering of the information saved Charles from having to ask, intrusive as it might have been. But he nonetheless frowned to himself as he followed the other man down the stairs. Spain was also where Miss Salvadore came from, he remembered, and Lehnsherr himself had revealed that he had been there on his travels as well.

It all seemed very coincidental.

“My lord?”

Randall was in the hall, looking confused as only a butler can when a viscount and one of his guests appear nearly an hour early for dinner. That is to say, his face was completely blank, and his voice was perfectly level, with no hint of a question in it.

Charles knew his butler well, however. “Don’t worry, Randall,” he said, grateful for the distraction from thoughts that might have begun to associate Lehnsherr with some dubious circumstances. “Dinner will be at the same time as usual. Mr Lehnsherr and I are merely ready a little early.”

“I see, my lord.”

“You know I wouldn’t dream of upsetting Mrs Daly’s schedule.”

“Of course not, my lord.”

As they left Randall – still a little confused, Charles had no doubt, but he would have to remain so – gazing after them, Charles added in an aside, “It would be more than my life is worth to disrupt Mrs Daly’s careful timings.” He sighed dramatically. “I fear I am under the thumb of my servants.”

“How terrible for you,” Lehnsherr replied dryly, and Charles glanced at him quickly, remembering that for the other man, servants were a luxury, and he therefore probably did not consider Charles’ woes to be particularly woeful.

But Lehnsherr was wearing a faint smile, and Charles chuckled.

“It is a terrible state of affairs, I can assure you.”

Charles led the way into the library, which was dark and still, the air slightly chilled. “Ah, I did not think,” he said, looking around in dismay. “I am not normally in this room so soon before dinner. If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll ring the bell for someone to light the fire.” He switched on the lamp on his desk and made his way towards the bell-pull.

“There’s no need for that,” Lehnsherr replied. “I am perfectly adept at such things.” And before Charles could stop him, he went down on his knees in front of the fireplace, where the fire was laid but not lit.

“Oh, well, if you’re sure…?” To cover his confusion and embarrassment, Charles turned to the liquor cabinet. “Brandy?” he asked over his shoulder.

He was just about to take the lack of response as assent, when Lehnsherr responded, “Just soda, thank you, if that’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course not,” said Charles, recalling then Lehnsherr’s aversion to over-imbibing. 

By the time Charles had readied the drinks, the beginnings of a handsome fire were flickering in the grate, the glow combining with the lamplight to cast the same warm intimacy over the room as the evening before.

“You make me quite ashamed,” he said, handing Lehnsherr his soda and then settling himself into his customary chair. “My own skills in that area are quite lacking.”

“There is no reason you should possess them,” Lehnsherr replied. He was still standing, to one side of the fireplace, and Charles suddenly felt at something of a disadvantage, and wished he had not sat down quite so quickly.

Then, “Do you play?” Lehnsherr asked, and Charles realised he was looking at the chess set on the small table behind Charles’ chair.

“Yes, although not often,” he said. “My sister doesn’t care for the game, and while Moira will indulge me on occasion, I don’t think she would mind me saying she is not the best of players.”

“I do not know how well our skills would measure up, but I would be happy to test myself against you,” said Lehnsherr, and at Charles’ eager nod lifted the table, chess set and all, and set it down between the two chairs in front of the fire. “Do you prefer white or black?” he asked, sitting down finally and picking up the small box that held the pieces.

“Oh, I insist you take white,” Charles said. “You are the guest, after all.”

“And perhaps you feel I need every advantage I can get?” Lehnsherr added, and then quirked his lips in a smile as Charles stuttered out a denial.

Lehnsherr set the pieces out quickly and efficiently, and then, with no deliberation, moved a pawn forward. Charles followed suit, and after a rapid flurry of moves several pieces were scattered across the board.

“You play decisively. I like it,” Charles observed.

“I do not believe in hesitation,” Lehnsherr replied. “When you know what you must do, and have the necessary resources and information to do it, why wait? Why dither and prevaricate?”

“A commendable philosophy, my friend,” Charles said. “One might almost think you were talking about something more than chess, though.”

Lehnsherr didn’t respond, instead moving his knight to take one of Charles’ pawns, and by necessity Charles was forced to return his attention to the game. Lehnsherr was the best opponent he had played for some time, and when his queen only narrowly escaped obliteration, he began to wish that he had filled his glass with soda as well, even though he knew that a few mouthfuls of whiskey could not really be affecting his ability.

He suspected it was more by luck than by judgement that he eventually beat Lehnsherr, although the game was close-fought until the very end, and Charles only won by the narrowest of margins. However, ultimately Lehnsherr was forced to tip his king, and then sit back in his chair with an expression of mingled admiration and chagrin on his face.

“You have a keen grasp of strategy,” Lehnsherr said. “However, I wonder if you would have been so successful if we’d had the chance to play billiards earlier.”

“Well, we shall never know,” Charles replied lightly.

“If you fear losing so much, then perhaps we won’t,” Lehnsherr said, his tone holding a teasing note that made Charles cough suddenly around his triumphant sip of whiskey.

As a matter of fact, it was _not_ fear of losing (although Charles did not count himself as a terribly skilled billiards player) that had kept Charles from challenging Lehnsherr that afternoon. Nor was it lack of desire to play the other man in the first place. But after playing Sean in the first round of the ‘friendly’ tournament Alex had proposed to while away the hours after luncheon, and being soundly beaten in a manner that was embarrassing to even his poor skills, he had been forced to sit out the rest of competition and so forfeit any chance to play Lehnsherr.

He hadn’t been able to bring himself to abandon his guests though – Raven was not present to play hostess, and Charles could not in good conscience excuse himself from Shaw’s presence again after the pretences of the morning – so he had appointed himself scorekeeper, and placed himself out of the way in a corner, from which vantage point he could watch the matches, and the interplay of the competitors.

The uneven number of players at the beginning of the tournament meant that they’d drawn straws to see who would sit out the first round, and Lehnsherr had drawn the shortest. So after his ignominious defeat Charles had watched Armando defeat Henry (who, with good-natured ruefulness, had then come to sit by Charles), and a disgruntled Alex succumb to Shaw.

The second round had matched up Armando and Sean, and Lehnsherr and Shaw, and while the first match was a close-fought affair, it was the second one that held Charles’ attention, albeit not because of the flair of the play on show (which was nonetheless impressive).

One might almost have thought Lehnsherr and his uncle were playing for something more than the dubious honour of being crowned the weekend’s billiards champion. Thus the dark flash of anger that crossed Shaw’s face when he lost was as expected as the complete lack of satisfaction on Lehnsherr’s face was _un_ expected. The barest exchange of nods was the only acknowledgement of a match well played, before Lehnsherr turned his attention back to the table, and his final match against Sean.

He won, to no one’s surprise, and betrayed (although only to Charles, who was watching closely) a hint of surprised pleasure when Sean shook his hand vigorously and congratulated him on his victory. It had become clear to Charles then that Lehnsherr’s claims of not knowing what to do with friendship had not been too far from the truth.

Now, however, Charles’ coughing fit prompted a solicitous “Are you quite all right?” from Lehnsherr that had Charles flapping a dismissive hand at him until he was able to speak again. “Quite, thank you,” he wheezed eventually. “Whiskey just got caught in my throat for a moment, that’s all.” He set the glass down on the table next to the decimated chessboard. “Serves me right for indulging in such a vice, I suppose.”

“We all deserve our little indulgences.”

“Even when your life is one long indulgence?” asked Charles archly.

Lehnsherr huffed a laugh. “Even then.”

“And what is your indulgence?” said Charles, the words slipping out before he remembered that Lehnsherr had probably had little time or money to spare on such things.

“Well,” replied Lehnsherr, regarding Charles over steepled fingers, “one of them is soundly beating viscounts at billiards.”

Charles came very near to another choking fit. “But you have not beaten me yet,” he pointed out.

“No, I have not. Perhaps I should amend then, in the meantime, to soundly beating a viscount’s guests at billiards.”

“You certainly did that,” Charles conceded. “But where…” He cut the enquiry off before he could finish it.

“Where did I learn?” Lehnsherr asked the question for him. “In my uncle’s house, when I was younger. Shaw was quite the aficionado, and he required an opponent. Therefore, he taught me.”

“And taught you well, I notice.”

“Yes. He would say, a little _too_ well. Unfortunately for him, the student has surpassed the teacher, and he does not enjoy it.”

Lehnsherr made the claim without a trace of boastfulness, although Charles had to admit, having seen him play, he was more than entitled to the boast. There was, however, a hint of the satisfaction Charles had expected to see earlier, and he suddenly had a vision of a young Lehnsherr determined to outplay an uncle he so disliked, one of the few avenues of revenge open to him.

“Of course, I did not play for many years after I left my uncle’s guardianship, but I soon found after I returned that my skill had not deserted me. Luckily for me, as that now makes me the champion of Xavier Hall.”

Charles laughed. “I think my sister would have had something to say about that, if she had been involved.”

“Your sister?” Lehnsherr raised one eyebrow. “Does she play?”

“No doubt you are scandalised,” said Charles wryly. “It is not the done thing at all, but Raven takes perverse delight in eschewing the ‘done thing’ at the most random of moments. She would have taken part in our little tournament with relish, if she had not been playing the part of hostess elsewhere.”

“And you think she could have emerged victorious?”

“I think it very likely. I may despair of Raven when it comes to chess, but she is equally despairing of me when it comes to billiards. I cannot match her at all.”

Lehnsherr smiled. “Miss Xavier seems to be a woman who very much knows her own mind.”

“That is one way of putting it, yes.”

“I think it is an admirable quality,” Lehnsherr said bluntly. “This is a new century, after all. Women should not have to simper and blush and remain in the background.”

“How very modern of you,” Charles said, smiling likewise. “Raven would be delighted to hear you say so. As am I,” he added. “I do not think she knows what she wishes from life yet, but I’m afraid I will not be able to deny her anything – or anyone – she wants.”

“The man she chooses will be able to count himself extremely lucky,” Lehnsherr returned warmly.

In contrast, Charles abruptly felt an icy trickle of dismay slither down his spine. Sebastian Shaw’s words of the previous evening came vividly to mind.

_“And my nephew will relish a little competition, I am certain.”_

Could it be possible? Could Lehnsherr really fall in with his uncle’s plans (which Charles suspected would not be abandoned so easily, despite his previous stern rebuff), despite everything? Could he really have designs on Raven?

“I see my uncle has made his intentions known to you.” All warmth had vanished from Lehnsherr’s voice.

“He may have mentioned something to the effect of…”

Lehnsherr leaned forward suddenly, knocking a few of the chessmen off the table between them in the process. Charles barely noticed as they rolled away across the rug.

“However, his intentions are not my own. Please believe me when I say I have no thoughts of that sort towards your sister. None at all.”

He sounded fervent enough that Charles believed him, and the relief that assailed him was almost overpowering. Perhaps it was that which made him say, in a voice of teasing lightness, “But did you not just say you admired her?”

But the look of agitated confusion on Lehnsherr’s face made him suddenly realise he was being cruel, and he hurried to make amends. “Please, calm yourself, my friend. I did not mean…that is, I don’t know why I said that. It was unkind.”

“Yes.” Lehnsherr withdrew a little, back into his chair. “It was.”

“I’m sorry,” Charles said, scrambling against the feeling of having ruined something. “I am a little too protective of my sister, perhaps – I know she would say so. But since our parents died, we are all each other has. I just want to see her happy,” he finished simply.

“I understand perfectly,” Lehnsherr replied, seemingly mollified. “I may not have any family left that I value, but I understand its importance. Only too well.”

“I am sorry,” Charles repeated, needing to say it again.

“And I accept your apology. And do not worry, your sister is safe from me.”

“I am sure she would have been in no danger, in any case,” Charles said. “You are not your uncle, after all.”

“No, that I am not,” Lehnsherr said, smiling somewhat grimly.

It was with a slight feeling of relief that Charles heard at that moment a knock on the library door, and he called out a summons perhaps a little more enthusiastically than he might otherwise have done. He still felt as if he were treading on very thin ice, susceptible to saying something else wrong that would damage this new friendship irrevocably, and he therefore welcomed anything that might prevent that.

Randall entered, and nodded deferentially to both of them. “My lord, Miss Xavier is in the drawing room with Mrs Shaw and Mr Muñoz, and I believe Miss MacTaggert and the rest of the guests will be down momentarily.”

“Ah, I hadn’t realised so much time had passed,” Charles said, honestly surprised, and a little chagrined, that he had allowed himself to become so engrossed. “We will be there right away, Randall.”

The butler nodded again and withdrew as Charles rose from his seat. “I believe our social duties call,” he said to Lehnsherr. Just in time he stopped himself from adding that he would have much preferred to remain cloistered with Lehnsherr for the rest of the evening – despite the momentary awkwardness that had arisen between them. That would sound a little too forward.

“A shame,” Lehnsherr replied, as he rose likewise. “The company out there cannot match that in here.”

“Oh,” said Charles, startled. “Thank you.”

Lehnsherr gave him an enigmatic smile. “You’re welcome. Now, shall we?”

*~*~*~*~*

They managed to make it to the drawing room before any more of the guests arrived. Raven spotted them immediately, and Charles tried to ignore the knowing smile on her face as she made her way over to them.

“I see you found someone to pass the time with after all, Charles,” she said. “It’s practically unheard of for my brother to be ready for dinner so early,” she added to Lehnsherr. “It is lucky you were available to entertain him.”

“Yes, very lucky,” Lehnsherr replied blandly.

Charles glared at Raven as he deliberately avoided catching Lehnsherr’s eye. “Have you been down long, sister dear?” he asked pointedly. “I hope you haven’t had to entertain Mrs Shaw and Mr Muñoz on your own for long.”

“Not very long,” Raven replied. “Although perhaps it might have been better if one of us had been prompter,” and her raised eyebrow left him in no doubt who she was placing the blame on, “as I found Mrs Shaw already present when I arrived with Mr Muñoz.”

“Oh,” said Charles. “I hope she didn’t feel neglected.”

“I don’t think she can have,” said Raven. “She hasn’t been particularly desirous of anyone’s company all day. She said she was writing letters this morning, if you recall, but then she seemed to spend all afternoon with paper and pen as well! Moira and I were left with only Miss Salvadore to chat to.”

“Well, I’m sure a society lady such as Mrs Shaw must have plenty of correspondence,” Charles tried.

“Of course,” replied Raven, although she sounded doubtful. “And I suppose her desperation to write more letters was what led her to dress so hurriedly and be downstairs before us. Well, _most_ of us, anyway.” Raven’s expression suddenly turned gleeful. “Oh! Perhaps she had a rendezvous of her own to keep.”

“Raven!” Charles hissed, acutely aware of Lehnsherr listening in. “I’m sure Mrs Shaw was simply earlier than she expected to be. And besides, who on earth would she be meeting if her husband was still dressing?”

“My aunt does tend towards the opposite opinion on the subject of dressing to my uncle,” Lehnsherr said then, sounding faintly amused, to Charles’ very great relief. “When she has to share a maid, I believe _she_ insists on being dressed first. She doesn’t like to be kept waiting. It is therefore possible she decided to wait down here instead of in her room while my uncle was getting ready.”

“There, Raven, you see,” said Charles. “All perfectly innocent. Your imagination does run away with you sometimes.”

Raven looked abashed and murmured her apologies, but as soon as Lehnsherr looked away she quickly pulled a face at Charles, who took a brief moment to wonder what it would be like to have a correct, demure sister.

As it happened, Lehnsherr’s attention had been attracted by the entrance of some more members of the party – Sean and Alex with Moira, and then Miss Salvadore slipping in behind them a moment later. Raven nodded towards the later, and beckoned, but received nothing more than a tremulous smile and shake of the head as Miss Salvadore seated herself quickly on the same sofa as Emma Shaw, who barely looked round as the younger woman joined her.

“How odd,” Raven observed, in a low voice. “I had hoped, after today, she might have come over to speak to us. Honestly, Charles, it was almost like she was a different person this afternoon, with only Moira and myself keeping her company. She started telling us a little about her life in Spain before she became Mr Shaw’s ward – it sounded so thrilling and exotic!”

“Next you’ll be telling me you want to take a trip there, I expect,” said Charles, and then laughed as Raven fluttered her eyelashes at him exaggeratedly.

“Really? That would be wonderful!”

Lehnsherr, however, was frowning, but before Charles could ask him what the matter was, Henry hurried into the room, looking flustered as if he had forgotten the time. Such an occurrence wasn’t out of the question. Charles recalled many an occasion at university when Henry had become so engrossed in his notes and research that he had been late for appointments, meals, and even lectures.

“My apologies,” he said as he came up to them. “I hope I haven’t caused a delay. My attention was caught by some journals I brought with me – they’re the latest editions, and I hoped to find the time to read a few of them this weekend. Unfortunately, I seem to have picked precisely the wrong moment to become distracted.”

“Never fear, Henry,” said Charles. “You are not late in the slightest. Although perhaps after dinner you might fetch down some of those journals. I may not be a distinguished doctor like you, but I have still been sadly lax when it comes to keeping up to date with the publications.”

“I’m not so very distinguished yet,” Henry objected. “But of course I would be happy to bring down some of the journals. Perhaps we could also find the time to discuss the latest scholarship on…”

Randall cleared his throat behind them, thereby saving Raven and Lehnsherr from perils of academic conversation. Henry looked embarrassed as he realised this, and Charles darted a quick apologetic look at the pair of them as he turned to the butler.

“Yes, Randall?”

“My lord, it is past time to ring the gong for dinner.”

Charles frowned. “Then why haven’t you rung it?”

“Mr Shaw is yet to join you, my lord.”

“Oh.” Charles looked around, saw that Randall was right, and then wondered why he hadn’t noticed Shaw’s absence earlier. “Perhaps you might go upstairs, Randall, and see what is keeping our guest?”

“Please don’t trouble yourself,” Lehnsherr cut in before Randall could reply. “I will go and fetch him down.”

“But there’s no need for that,” Charles told him. “Why not let Randall go?”

Lehnsherr eyed the butler briefly, and then said, in a voice low enough to exclude Randall from the conversation, “I fear my uncle will not take kindly to a servant commenting on his…lapse. And he will view it that way, I can assure you. I would not want your butler to bear the brunt of his ill humour on the subject. I will bring him down.”

“But won’t that expose you to his ill humour instead?” Charles asked.

“I am used to it,” said Lehnsherr bluntly.

Unfortunately, Charles had no doubt this was true. “Well, if you’re sure?” he said.

“I am. Trust me, it will be better this way.”

“Very well,” said Charles. He raised his voice to include Randall again, and added, “We will wait a few moments longer to ring the gong then, and risk Mrs Daly’s wrath for the delay.”

Randall nodded, while Lehnsherr merely gave Charles a faint smile, and made his way out of the room.

“It is odd of Mr Shaw to be so late, don’t you think?” Raven commented. “He has been very taken with all the little rituals and customs of the household this weekend. I would have thought he would be more punctual.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Charles replied. “I saw Mr Shaw’s valet earlier – he indicated the Mr Shaw was completing his own dressing by himself. Perhaps he’s discovered a problem that has delayed him.”

“Perhaps,” said Raven, although she looked as if she did not relish such a dull resolution to the mystery.

“Maybe Mr Shaw has been taken ill,” Henry theorised. “Do you think I should go after Mr Lehnsherr? I may able to offer some small assistance if that is the case.”

“I’m sure your assistance would not be so small, Henry,” Charles said. “But in any case, Mr Shaw or his valet would mostly likely have alerted someone if there was any illness. I’m sure Mr Shaw and Mr Lehnsherr will be back momentarily, and it will all have turned out to be quite trivial.”

But even as he dismissed Raven and Henry’s speculation, Charles could not stop his eyes from travelling back to the door through which Lehnsherr had so recently departed, waiting for it to open again. Vaguely, he was aware that Henry had re-introduced the topic of his new journals, but although Charles nodded and smiled and made the odd reply to his friend, his mind was upstairs, wondering if perhaps there _was_ something more going on than a simple error in timekeeping, or a problem with Shaw’s attire. Surely Raven was right, and Shaw would have made every effort to be punctual? And if there were some delay, wouldn’t Shaw have sent down his apologies?

Ten more minutes passed, at what to Charles felt like a crawl, and neither Shaw nor Lehnsherr made an appearance. Charles could see that his other guests were starting to wonder what was going on, and sense Randall’s agitation at the continuing delay.

“I think I should see what has happened to them,” he said, interrupting Henry’s now almost one-sided dialogue on his scientific interests. “Raven, darling, if I have Randall ring the gong, perhaps you could assist everyone else into dinner? I am sure Henry here will be only too happy to help you lead the way. Don’t wait for me. We shall not be too much longer, I am sure.”

Raven was nodding. “Of course, Charles,” she said. “But do you think everything is all right?”

“Don’t worry, my dear, I shall get to the bottom of things,” Charles told her, although he was very aware that it was not an answer to her question.

*~*~*~*~*

Later, Charles would recall that the house, as he made his way up the stairs and along the corridors, was filled with an ominous quiet. That he had felt foreboding chilling his blood, somehow imbuing him with a premonition of what he was going to find.

Of course, that was all nonsense. His recollections were being coloured by what had happened next, he knew.

As it was, in the moments before he reached Shaw’s room, his only preoccupation was that he might be about to find himself in the middle of some domestic, familial dispute, an unwelcome audience to something that should remain private.

However, while his presence might be unwelcome, it did not follow that it would be unnecessary. Lehnsherr’s dislike of his uncle was strong enough that Charles was anxious about the intensity of the dispute he might be about to witness. He feared the possibility of strong words and rancour deep enough to cause a permanent break between the two men. To drive Lehnsherr from the house, and from (and Charles could admit the selfishness of his worry, if only to himself) Charles.

Only when he arrived at Shaw’s bedroom door did Charles realise that he had been unconsciously hurrying his steps as his concern mounted. He halted, and forced himself to listen for a moment, trying to detect the sound of raised voices, or even the murmur of conversation, within the room.

But all was silent. Was anyone still inside? Could Charles have missed his two quarries? Could they have bypassed each other in the halls, and were Lehnsherr and Shaw now downstairs, wondering where their host was?

He didn’t see how that could be the case. He had taken the most direct route to his destination, and both Shaw and Lehnsherr were unfamiliar with house, and not privy to its shortcuts.

Charles listened for a moment longer, to be certain he could hear nothing, and then knocked gently on the door, pushing it open after a few seconds even though he had received no summons.

“Please excuse me for intruding,” he said as he slipped into the room. “We were growing worried when you did not come down.”

Lehnsherr was standing in the middle of the room, close to the foot of the bed. He had his back to Charles, and did not turn as Charles entered. Something in the rigidity of his shoulders and the clench of his fist as it rested against his thigh prompted Charles to speak softly.

“Mr Lehnsherr? Is everything all right? Where is your uncle? Has he gone down…”

Charles trailed off as he took a few more steps forward, and saw what had been previously hidden from him by the bed.

Shaw was lying on his back on the rug, limbs haphazardly spread-eagled and a look of panic still on his face.

He was quite clearly dead.


	6. Chapter 6

The blood was so very red, Charles thought to himself inanely. And there was so _much_ of it. A bright flower of it had blossomed across the front of Shaw’s shirt, and Charles could see how it had also flowed downwards to spread across the rug in a strangely uniform pool.

Nor was it only about Shaw’s person. Charles could see a vivid spray of it on the wallpaper above the dressing table, and even the bed hangings bore traces of its decoration. It was as if the rest of the colour had been drained out of the room, and all he could see was _red_.

Beside him, Lehnsherr stirred minutely. Charles wrenched his attention away from the body before them, and looked up at the other man.

Lehnsherr’s face was as pale as the rest of the room seemed, bloodless where Shaw seemed to be nothing _but_ blood, and his expression so perfectly blank that Charles felt a chill.

But the façade only lasted for a moment longer. As if Charles’ scrutiny had released something inside him, Lehnsherr turned to look at him, wild emotion flickering in his eyes.

“I didn’t do this,” Lehnsherr said, his voice low and urgent. “I _didn’t_. He was already…like this, when I came in. He _was_.”

Charles couldn’t help it – his eyes darted down to Shaw again, and then back to Lehnsherr’s face in time to see the shuttering of the man’s expression, the return of the blank resignation he had worn before.

“You don’t believe me.” Lehnsherr gave a short, bitter laugh. “Of course, why should you? You know more of my dislike of my uncle than anyone else in this house. It is obvious. My animosity drove me to this.”

“No,” said Charles, shocked finally into speech.

“But this wasn’t my intention,” Lehnsherr continued, seemingly deaf to Charles’ protest. “This wasn’t what I meant to happen. Not how I wished to exact my revenge.” Lehnsherr laughed again. “Ironic, that his death should _take_ my revenge from me.”

“ _No_ ,” Charles repeated. He gripped Lehnsherr’s arm, shook the man a little. “You didn’t do this. I believe you.”

He couldn’t say what made him so certain, only that Lehnsherr’s rambling words had the ring of truth about them. He didn’t understand the references to revenge – perhaps he didn’t _want_ to understand them, not yet – but the bitterness and disappointment seemed too sincere to be anything but.

“I believe you,” he said again. “Do you hear me?”

Lehnsherr blinked, as if he had not truly expected Charles to do anything of the sort. Which was the logical conclusion, Charles supposed. He might be sure in his conviction of Lehnsherr’s innocence, but to anyone else, Lehnsherr’s apparent guilt that would be obvious, even without any knowledge of his acrimonious relationship with Shaw. Lehnsherr had been alone in the room with Shaw for more than long enough to harm him, and anyone else, upon finding a dead body, would raise the alarm immediately, not stand in contemplation of it until discovered by a third party.

“You believe me?”

“Yes, I do,” Charles confirmed again. “I know you, and I know you could not do this.”

“You know no such thing,” Lehnsherr contradicted. “How could you? We have only been acquainted a day.”

“And that is long enough,” Charles said, throwing caution to the wind. “It is long enough to become your friend, and it is long enough to know you. I promise.”

Lehnsherr gazed at him for a moment longer, and then nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “I do not deserve your faith, but thank you.” Then he looked back down at Shaw’s body. “However, I don’t think that others will be so ready to believe in me. They will assume that I am guilty.” He held up a hand to stall Charles’ protests. “Denials are useless. You know it is true.”

Charles sighed. “I know.”

Lehnsherr smiled – a thin, crooked thing that had nothing of humour or good cheer about it. “The police will be needed. There is no avoiding it, of course.”

“But…”

“No. Don’t even think it. I could never ask that of you. And it could never be accomplished anyway. We must call them in. I know I am innocent, and for reasons I still cannot quite fathom, you know it too. We must trust that will be enough.”

“Oh god.” The exclamation left Charles’ lips before he could call it back, and might have been followed by words even more unwise had they not been arrested by a knock on the door.

“My lord?” It was Randall. “Forgive me, my lord, but is everything all right?”

“Wait here,” Charles said to Lehnsherr, and moved swiftly to the door, opening it and slipping out into the corridor.

“Is everything all right, my lord?” Randall asked again, upon seeing him.

Charles took a deep breath. “No, I’m afraid it is not,” he said. “I need you to go downstairs and telephone the police.”

“The police, my lord?” said Randall. The only sign of his consternation was a minute raising of his eyebrows.

“Yes, the police. There has been an…incident. Mr Shaw is dead.”

The words were blunt, but Randall once again proved his worth as a butler. “I shall telephone immediately,” he said. There was only the smallest of hesitations before he added, “And Mr Lehnsherr, my lord?”

“He is in Shaw’s room,” Charles replied, knowing there was no way he could hide it. “He found the body.”

“I see. That must have been unpleasant for him.”

“Most unpleasant. He has had quite a shock. We will go down to the library to wait for the police. Please direct them there as soon as they arrive.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Oh, and before you place the call, perhaps you could ask Miss MacTaggert to step out of the dining room for a moment so I can speak to her?”

“Very well, my lord.”

“Thank you, Randall. I can always rely on you.”

The butler nodded and turned away, while Charles steeled himself to return to the room behind him.

Lehnsherr was standing exactly where Charles had left him, staring down at the body once more. Charles laid his hand on the man’s arm again. “Come away,” he said gently. “There’s nothing more to be done here, and the police will arrive soon. We must be ready.”

Lehnsherr looked down at his uncle’s form for a moment longer, and then nodded and allowed himself to be led from the room. He moved almost mechanically, as if the shock Charles had spoken of to Randall was only now making itself felt. Charles didn’t delude himself that Lehnsherr was necessarily sorry about his uncle’s death, but the man _had_ suffered a great trauma, nonetheless. And Charles knew there were aspects of the situation that he had not even begun to understand.

Moira was waiting outside the library door as they approached. She looked worried and uncertain, and only became more so when she perceived the ghastly pallor of Lehnsherr’s face, and seriousness of Charles’ expression.

“Charles, what on earth has happened?” she asked, starting forward to meet them.

Making a small gesture to ask her to wait for a moment, Charles spoke quickly to Lehnsherr. “Wait for me inside. I won’t be long. Take anything you want from the drinks cabinet, if you wish.” Then, “I must tell her, you understand that, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Lehnsherr said hoarsely. “Haven’t I already told you not to attempt any deception on my behalf?”

But Charles could not miss the quick, apprehensive glance he gave Moira before he took a few hurried steps backwards, and disappeared into the library.

“Deception?” Moira said. “What did he mean? What is it you need to tell me?”

“I am sorry to lay this on you, Moira.”

“Lay what on me? Charles, what has _happened_?”

“Shaw is dead,” said Charles, unable to find a way to soften the blow and very aware that time was slipping away.

Moira’s eyes grew wide. “Dead? Are you sure?”

“Very sure,” replied Charles grimly.

“But how? Was he taken ill? His heart or…”

“He wasn’t taken ill,” Charles told her. “He was killed…deliberately.”

“Deliberately. You mean he was _murdered_?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“But who…who could have done this?”

“I don’t know,” said Charles. But he could not miss the way Moira’s gaze went momentarily to the closed library door. “It wasn’t him,” he added quickly. “He found the body, but it wasn’t him.”

Moira’s eyes came back to him. “How do you know? He said something about deception. What did he mean if he didn’t…?”

“I promise you, Moira, it wasn’t _him_ ,” Charles repeated. “I don’t know how I know, but I do. But the evidence…well, it doesn’t look good.”

“The police…” Moira faltered.

“Randall is summoning them,” Charles assured her. “That’s what he meant by no deception. He knows how it looks, but he won’t hide.”

“Oh Charles…”

“It’s all right, my dear. But I must ask you to do something for me.”

“Of course.”

“Could you tell the others? It’s too much to hope that they won’t be upset or alarmed, but if you could keep them as calm as you can, and maybe all together until the police arrive? It’s possible they might want to speak to some of them, especially Mrs Shaw.”

Moira nodded, and Charles smiled thinly. “Thank you. I’m sorry to ask, really.”

“You can rely on me, Charles.”

“I know I can, and it’s a great comfort to me. And of course, it goes without saying that no one must be allowed to go anywhere near Shaw’s room. The police will want it untouched, and in any case, the sight would be rather upsetting.”

“Naturally,” Moira said, nodding again. Charles was grateful that she had chosen not to ask him for any details of the death herself. He wasn’t sure he was up to describing it to her.

“Now, I must attend to Mr Lehnsherr. He is unsettled and distressed, and I’m worried for him.”

“Charles, are you sure…?” Moira asked again.

“Quite sure,” Charles replied. “He _is_ innocent.”

*~*~*~*~*

The fire that Lehnsherr had lit (so long ago it seemed now) had burned low, casting a gloom over the library that the lamp that Charles had forgotten to turn off did little to dispel. Lehnsherr was sitting in his customary chair before the hearth, and Charles’ heart constricted to see the way his head hung low, and the helpless droop of his hands as they dangled between his knees.

There was no sign that he had taken up Charles’ direction towards the liquor cabinet, and without saying anything, Charles crossed to it himself and poured out two generous brandies. He had a feeling they both needed them.

Lehnsherr didn’t stir when Charles nudged the table that still held the chessboard out of the way slightly, but as he set down the two glasses within easy reach, he heard, uttered in a tone that was low and despairing, the words “I didn’t do it.”

Charles seated himself opposite, and then, throwing caution to the wind, leaned forward and grasped one of Lehnsherr’s dangling hands between his own. “Let’s not have this conversation again,” he said gently. “I believe you, and that is not going to change.”

Lehnsherr sighed, but said nothing further, leaving Charles to wonder whether he had truly convinced the man or not.

“The police will find out who the real culprit is, and all will be well,” he tried, only for Lehnsherr to make a derisive noise.

“The police are imbeciles who will see an easy solution to their problem and look no further.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Charles said fiercely. “Believe that if you believe nothing else.” Then he hesitated, before adding, “Perhaps if you had something else to tell them. Something that would convince them of your innocence. Or at least that you are not capable of murder.”

Lehnsherr finally raised his head. “What could I possibly tell them that would make them think that?”

“You said something about revenge,” Charles said, unsure of the reaction his words would provoke. “About how your uncle’s death was not…part of that plan.”

“Ah, yes.” Lehnsherr’s voice was suddenly devoid of emotion. “I did not mean to mention that. And it hardly matters now, in any case.”

“It might matter, if it can help establish your innocence,” Charles insisted. He hesitated again. “It’s why you came back, isn’t it?” he asked tentatively. “Why you returned to live with your uncle even though you disliked him.”

Lehnsherr looked at him for a moment, his expression unfathomable in the uncertain light, and then eventually nodded. “Yes.”

“Will you tell me?”

“You will not like it. I may not have intended murder, but the alternative is not necessarily…honourable. But it is – _was_ – necessary. He deserved it.”

“Why? I know you hated him, but why? What had he done to merit you wishing to take vengeance upon him?”

“You may recall that I told you my mother’s family disowned her when she married my father.”

“Yes, I remember.” Charles looked at Lehnsherr sharply. “That is why? You wanted revenge for that?”

“No,” said Lehnsherr, unexpectedly. “That happened before I was born, and I did also tell you that, for all their poverty, my parents were happy. _We_ were happy, and I was loved.”

“So what…?”

“And as a matter of fact, Shaw actually kept in touch with my mother after she left.” Lehnsherr spoke over Charles’ unfinished question. “At least at first. I found some letters, snooping in my mother’s things when I was a child – I didn’t understand all of the contents, but I could see they were from her brother Sebastian, and that the dates were after my parents got married. It seems they had been quite close as children, and he was reluctant to sever all ties.”

“Oh.”

“But that didn’t last forever,” Lehnsherr continued. “My mother’s family were well off – well off enough that to have their only daughter marry a poor German man was not to be borne – but they were not ridiculously wealthy. Not like…”

“Me,” Charles finished, when Lehnsherr suddenly faltered.

“They were not aristocrats, or anything like,” Lehnsherr amended. “Something that my uncle wanted to change, at least in terms of his wealth. He was determined to improve his lot, to have more. Always _more_. And he realised that in this new life he had dreamed up for himself, there was no room for a disgraced, poverty-stricken sister.”

“So that was when he severed all contact with her.”

“I believe so. Of course, I was only a child at the time, so I don’t know all the details. But I do know that there came a time when my mother stopped promising me that Uncle Sebastian would visit soon. Not that I think he ever would have visited, but while they were still in contact she at least had the hope of it to hold on to.”

“And that’s why? That’s why you hate him so?” Charles frowned, and could not help but speak bluntly. “Forgive me, my friend, but exacting revenge for such a thing seems extreme. It was not nice, or decent, of him, but after all, he was not responsible for your parents’ poverty.”

Lehnsherr gave him a hard look. “Perhaps not,” he said. “But he was responsible for their deaths.”

“ _What_?”

“He could have helped them, but he didn’t,” Lehnsherr snapped. “It’s his fault they died.”

“What do you mean?”

Lehnsherr stared into the fire for a few moments, his eyes hooded and his jaw tight. Then he spoke again, sounding as if he were forcing the words out from deep inside himself. “In the winter of my eleventh year my father became ill. Pneumonia. It was bad, and even after he recovered, his chest was weak, and he was very susceptible to sickness. He was ill enough often enough that he eventually lost his job and couldn’t get another. My mother tried to provide for all of us by cleaning and sewing, any work she could get. Then, the next winter, my father became very ill again, and this time he didn’t recover.”

Charles drew in a breath, but Lehnsherr carried on talking, obviously determined to finish the devastating tale now he’d started it.

“My mother tried to carry on, to make money for us, but it wasn’t enough. We were turned out of our house, and forced into accommodations that were little better than a slum. The conditions were terrible, and my mother got sick as well. I was never sure what the disease was, but she declined very fast. And then she was gone too.”

Charles suddenly realised that hand he still clasped in his own was trembling slightly. Lehnsherr had his other hand over his eyes, and when he finally lowered it again, Charles pretended not to see the moisture that Lehnsherr quickly dashed from his cheeks.

“Oh, my friend,” he murmured. “I am so sorry.”

Lehnsherr looked at him for a moment, and then nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“But I…” Charles paused, and then ploughed ahead anyway. “I do not understand how…”

“My uncle is involved?” Lehnsherr said. His lip curled in disdain, although Charles could tell it was not directed at him. “It is simple. My mother wrote to him, begging for his help, while my father was ill. Several times, I believe. I overheard my parents talking about it. My mother telling my father that she was sure Sebastian would reply this time, that he had to help them. That she _understood_ why he had withdrawn from her, but she knew he wouldn’t be so cold-hearted as to forsake her completely when her family was in such dire need.”

“But he never did reply, did he,” said Charles, grasping the point immediately.

“No,” Lehnsherr spat. “They weren’t asking for much. Just enough for a doctor, enough to keep them off the streets. Enough to protect their _son_. But he would not even give them that much. Even though he could have afforded to many times over. Because he was more concerned with _appearances_ and wealth than with his own family!”

“But he took you in, after your mother’s death.”

“Yes. And I’ve never understood why.”

“Perhaps…he wanted to help?” Charles suggested hesitantly, knowing what Lehnsherr’s reaction would be.

He was not wrong. “ _Help_?” Lehnsherr snapped. “Have you not heard a word I’ve said?”

“Yes, but why else would he…”

“I don’t know,” Lehnsherr said. “I asked him once, when I was still young, and he said it was because he didn’t want to abandon me.”

“So he _did_ …”

“Then I asked him why he had therefore abandoned my parents,” Lehnsherr interrupted. “He didn’t answer that question, and I didn’t ask again.”

“And you’ve never forgiven him.”

“Do you think I should have?” Lehnsherr demanded. “Do you think I should have forgiven the man who wouldn’t lift a finger to help his own sister, who left her to live and die in poverty and degradation?”

“That…that is not for me to say,” replied Charles. “I can only imagine your family’s situation. I do understand, though. I understand your ill feeling towards him. But revenge…surely that is not the way to honour your parents’ memory?”

“What would you know about it?” snapped Lehnsherr. Then he flinched away, the movement finally pulling his hand from Charles’ grip, and rose suddenly to pace the room. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I did not mean…I am not the only person to have lost my parents, of course.”

“No, you are not,” Charles retorted, momentarily stung despite the apology. “And do you not think that I could have found ample scapegoats to blame for my parents’ death? The doctors who could not fix my father or cure my mother? The groom who perhaps didn’t check the tack on my father’s horse as closely as he should have done? My sister, for not doing more to cheer my mother up after my father died? Myself, for not accompanying him that day, and therefore not being there to help him when he fell? But no one was to blame, I know that.”

“Are you suggesting that my uncle was in no way responsible for what happened to my parents, then?”

“No, not at all. He is clearly culpable. But would revenge have changed anything? It wouldn’t have brought them back.”

“It would have made me feel better.” But even Lehnsherr seemed to realise that this was not adequate reason, because after a few seconds he added, “And he would have learned what it’s like, to live like that. To have nothing, and be disgraced.”

“That was what you’d planned, then? To disgrace him?”

Lehnsherr came to halt outside the circles of light cast by the dying fire and the lamp. His face was in shadow, and thus Charles could not see his expression properly when he said, “Yes. To disgrace him and to ruin him. I wanted to make as poor as my parents once were.”

“But how? How could you possibly do that? Please tell me you weren’t contemplating robbery, or something like that.”

“Not at all. _I_ was not contemplating anything illegal in the slightest. Only to expose my uncle’s own underhanded, criminal dealings.”

“But how do you know he was involved in such things?” asked Charles, feeling an unaccountable need to play devil’s advocate, even though in truth he was not at all surprised that Shaw had not always played things by the book.

“I found the first clues when I still lived with him, before I went abroad,” Lehnsherr said. “I had not got over my habit of snooping through other people’s correspondence, you see.”

Although Charles could still not see Lehnsherr’s face, he sensed that the other man was smiling wryly, and for a moment he could do nothing but smile back, caught up in the image of a young boy poking around in places where he did not belong, starting guiltily at every small noise.

“I did not understand all of what I read, of course, but some things seemed odd, nonetheless. And the speed with which my uncle made money – he always seemed to sniff out the best opportunities before anyone else, come out on top in every deal, and buy cheaply and sell dear. Even before I left his house, I was suspicious, and when I was no longer under his watchful eye I was free to investigate more thoroughly. I visited the places where he had done business – he did not restrict himself to England – and spoke to the people whom he had done business with.”

“Your travels round Europe,” Charles said, suddenly enlightened. “You were following in his footsteps.”

“Exactly. And I heard tales of blackmail, threats, unfair advantage over competitors, cutting corners, and many other practices that allowed my uncle to make money at the expense of others.” Lehnsherr paused briefly. “And I don’t think he stopped there, either.”

“You mean _he_ resorted to robbery?”

“I mean he resorted to worse than that. When my uncle saw a thing he wanted, he took it. And if something – or _someone_ – stood in his way, well, he made sure they didn’t for much longer.”

“Surely not,” protested Charles, although in truth he somehow found the proposition frighteningly easy to believe. “No one is that desperate to be rich. To resort to murder…”

“Clearly you did not know my uncle at all well,” said Lehnsherr darkly. He stepped out of the shadows suddenly and sat down opposite Charles again. “I have no proof of that, of course. My travels furnished me with much evidence relating to his business practices – evidence that its suppliers made me promise to keep secret until such time as I could guarantee it would be put to proper use, and therefore they would be safe from reprisals from my uncle – but of this other possibility I obtained only rumour and hearsay. People died, but it always appeared to be an accident, or natural causes. There were, however, a few too many coincidences for the deaths to be anything other than highly suspicious to someone who knew how to make the connections.”

“And I suppose it would be difficult to prove it at all now, even with proper investigation,” Charles said. “Your uncle is beyond the reach of the authorities, in any case.”

“Indeed he is,” Lehnsherr replied, a bitter note in his voice reminding Charles that the man considered himself to have been robbed of his own revenge.

“And so you were going to use the evidence you have amassed to bankrupt and ruin your uncle,” he clarified.

“He would have lost everything.”

“But how can you be sure of that?” Charles asked. “It strikes me that if Shaw has been clever enough to get away with this all these years, he would have been clever enough to make sure he had funds that were untouchable. Perhaps even some of his fortune was made by honest means – honest enough to cast doubt on the provenance of the rest, even.”

“No, he would have been ruined,” Lehnsherr insisted, although there was a touch of desperation in his voice now, as if he was resisting the urge to contemplate what Charles was suggesting. “It was the only way I had of getting back at him, don’t you see? Or would you rather I _had_ resorted to murder?”

“I would rather you put thoughts of revenge from your mind altogether, as I have already said,” Charles told him. “And besides, what would _you_ have done if your plan had come to fruition? You would have been penniless also. Again.”

“I don’t care about that. I have lived that way before, as _I_ have already said. And I would be perfectly ready to do it again.”

“All right. But what about your aunt? And Miss Salvadore? Would you also see them destitute? By all accounts Miss Salvadore was saved from a life of poverty when your uncle took her in after her family died – however they died. Would you cast her back into that again?”

“Do you think I haven’t considered that?” said Lehnsherr. “Of course it occurred to me. But my uncle…he _deserved_ to know what it’s like. What he subjected my parents to.”

Lehnsherr’s voice cracked over the last words, and he hastily covered his face again. Charles could only watch, unable, despite to his words, to truly censure the man for the course of action he had planned, and had now been denied. He had lost his parents so young, and been forced to live with the man he blamed for their deaths. He supposed a desire for revenge was unavoidable.

There was a pause in which the only sound was the pop and crack of the dying fire, and then Lehnsherr raised his face again. In the dim light, his eyes appeared dry, but he seemed to have aged twenty years in only a few moments.

“But all this is of little consequence now,” Lehnsherr said, calm once more. “My uncle is dead, and I suppose I must be content with that as my revenge. Even though I was not the one who wrought it.”

“I am sorry, my friend,” said Charles, wishing he could take Lehnsherr’s hand again, and convey something of the depth of his feelings, that words were inadequate to express.

“Tell me again,” Lehnsherr said suddenly. “Tell me again that you believe me.” He leant forward abruptly, and Charles suddenly found that it was his hands that had been taken in a strong grip – strong enough to be almost painful, although strangely, he relished the sensation. “I must know. I must know that I have someone on my side. That you do not…despise me, despite what I have confessed.”

Charles was caught, unable to look away from the piercing directness of Lehnsherr’s eyes, the fervency of his voice. “I believe you,” he said. “I do not despise you.” He took a breath, and added quietly, “Erik, I _could_ not despise you.”

Then he waited, pinned by Lehnsherr’s – by _Erik’s_ – stare, for some kind of reaction. But there was none. Erik seemed frozen. He did not look away and he did not release his grip on Charles’ hands, but neither did he speak, or betray anything in his expression.

At least, not until there was a knock on the library door, at which point Charles’ hands were dropped as if they were a hot coal and Erik sat back in his chair again. Charles might almost have been impressed at the ease with which Erik pasted a look of resigned resolution on to his face, if he had not been too busy struggling to master his own emotions well enough to call out a summons.

Randall entered. “My lord, the police have arrived. An Inspector Logan is in the hall, along with a Sergeant Milsom and several other policemen.”

This was it, then. Charles glanced quickly at Erik, and received the most minute of nods in return. Charles nodded back, but could not escape the feeling of betrayal as he said to Randall, “Very well. Let them come in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve taken a slight historical liberty in this chapter – research (and Downton Abbey!) tells me that telephones in private homes were still uncommon at this point, and even Charles would be unlikely to have one. However, the headaches that were being caused by the original lack of telephone in this chapter were not worth a slavish devotion to historical accuracy!


	7. Chapter 7

“Let them come in.”

“Yes, my lord.” Randall beckoned to someone Charles couldn’t see, and then two men entered the room.

“Inspector James Logan, Lord Xavier,” the foremost of them said. He did not offer his hand to shake, which Charles supposed was reasonable enough, given the circumstances. “And this is Sergeant Milsom.”

“Thank you for coming so quickly, Inspector.”

“A murder makes things rather urgent. Although your butler didn’t seem to be able to tell us much, over the phone. Just that someone had died, and the man’s name. Sebastian Shaw, I believe?”

“That’s correct,” said Charles. “And I didn’t acquaint my butler with the details, I’m afraid. It didn’t seem like a good idea, until we know exactly what has happened here.”

“Then we will need access to the scene of the crime immediately,” said Logan. “My police surgeon, Dr Green, is waiting in the hall, along with two of my constables.”

“I’ll take you and your men there at once, Inspector.”

“Actually, I would prefer it if you remained here, with your friend” said Logan. His eyes went briefly but pointedly to Erik, who had not moved, before returning to Charles. “Perhaps your butler could show us the way?”

“Of course. Whatever you think best, Inspector. No one has touched anything since the body was discovered. That’s right, isn’t it, Randall?”

“It is, my lord. Miss MacTaggert has moved everyone to the drawing room, and no one has left it since. Although I believe several of the ladies are rather upset.”

“I don’t doubt it. I am sure the Inspector will do his best move proceedings along, though.”

“It’ll take as long it takes,” Logan said. Then he gave Charles a sharp look. “Exactly how many other people are here this evening?” he asked.

“Apart from my sister and her companion, I have seven other guests staying this weekend. Not including Mr Shaw, of course.”

“Of course,” said Logan sardonically. Then he seemed to relent slightly. “I’ll send Constable Bosworth in to speak to your guests. He has a knack for reassuring people – I’m sure he’ll be able to calm the ladies down.”

“And make sure that that everyone _remains_ together, I suppose?” Charles suggested. 

“Exactly. Now, as I said, if both of you gentlemen will stay here, I’ll leave you Sergeant Milsom for company, and return when I’ve taken a look at the state of things.”

By mutual silent agreement, Charles and Erik did not speak while under Sergeant Milsom’s watchful eye, which was beady and, Charles thought, deeply suspicious of the pair of them. Erik remained seated by the fire, while Charles moved restlessly around the room, switching on two more lamps, and defiantly tossing back his glass of brandy, which had so far remained untouched, before pouring himself another. He was sure Milsom disapproved of this, but the sergeant made no move to stop him.

Erik’s brandy was also still untouched, but he made no move to drink it.

Less than a quarter of an hour later, however, Logan returned. He instructed Milsom to take his place upstairs and “send Perkins down again,” and the sergeant retired quietly, although not without another suspicious stare at both Charles and Erik. 

Logan waited until the door had clicked shut behind him before observing, “Quite a mess up there. It’s definitely murder, of course, but we’ll have to wait for the preliminary report before we know any more. And now,” he continued, before either Charles or Erik could speak, “I know who you are, of course, Lord Xavier, but perhaps you could introduce your friend?”

But Erik spoke up first. “I am Erik Lehnsherr,” he said. “I am Sebastian Shaw’s nephew.”

“Are you indeed?” The inspector’s gaze turned searching for a moment before he returned to the basic facts. “Your butler also informed us that the pair of you found the body.”

Once again, Erik spoke before Charles could. “ _I_ found the body,” he corrected. “Charles came upon the scene a short while later.”

Charles suddenly found he could not look at Erik. That he could not bear to see whether the little thrill that had just gone through his body, despite the seriousness of the situation, had been caused by a mere slip of the tongue.

“Is this correct?” Logan was addressing him, and Charles quickly gathered his thoughts.

“It is.”

“I think you both need to explain to me exactly what happened. You first, Mr Lehnsherr.”

“Very well. I had returned upstairs to fetch my uncle down for dinner. He was late.”

“Everyone else was already assembled and waiting,” Charles put in.

Erik nodded. “It was unlike him not to be punctual, so I went to get him.”

“Did you meet anyone else on your way upstairs?” Logan asked.

“No. Not even a servant.”

“And when you reached Mr Shaw’s room?”

“I knocked, but there was no answer. So I knocked again and then went in.” Erik’s voice was admirably calm as he added, “I found my uncle lying on the floor, just as I presume he still is now.”

“And he was dead at that point?”

“Unquestionably.”

“All right. And then you raised the alarm?”

“No.”

“Why not? Surely finding the brutally murdered body of your uncle on the floor was _cause_ for alarm?”

If Logan had hoped to provoke a reaction from Erik with his blunt summation, he was destined to be disappointed. Although it was obvious that Erik’s _lack_ of reaction was damning enough, in the inspector’s eyes.

“I think I must have been in shock,” Erik said. “As you say, it was rather a brutal sight.”

“Quite,” said Logan. Then he turned to Charles. “So, Lord Xavier, if Mr Lehnsherr didn’t raise the alarm, why were _you_ there?”

“When Eri…Mr Lehnsherr didn’t return quickly with Mr Shaw, I became worried,” Charles replied.

“Because you thought something might have happened?”

“Perhaps,” said Charles. “Although not,” he amended hastily, as Logan’s eyes narrowed, “anything like what you’re thinking.”

“It’s probably best not to try to guess what I’m thinking,” said Logan. “Please just explain your part in proceedings.”

“Fine.” Charles did so, coming to a halt at the point where he had found Erik standing over Shaw’s body. He was uncomfortably aware of the attentiveness with which Logan was following the tale, and of how it must sound to someone who hadn’t been there.

“You didn’t see anyone else as you went upstairs either?” Logan questioned.

“No one.”

“And therefore Mr Lehnsherr could have been alone with Mr Shaw for at least a quarter of an hour?”

This time, Charles had to force himself _not_ to look at Erik. “Well, yes,” he answered unwillingly.

“Plenty of time to have killed him then, wouldn’t you say?”

“Now hold on just a minute…” Charles began, but stopped when Erik suddenly rose from his chair and said quietly, “Charles, it’s all right.”

Logan glanced between them, and then nodded as if to himself. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to come to the police station with us, sir,” he said formally to Erik. “I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Sebastian Shaw.”

“I understand,” Erik said calmly. “I will – what is the phrase? – ‘come quietly’.”

“I’m coming with you,” said Charles, in a tone that brooked no argument from either Erik or Logan.

“I think that would be best, as a matter of fact,” said Logan, as Erik gave Charles a look tinged with a mixture of exasperation and gratitude. “We will need a more complete statement from you – you are currently the only witness, after all.”

However, there was something in Logan’s voice that hinted at suspicions that Charles was _more_ than just a witness. Before Charles could defend himself, however, Erik spoke in a voice of steel and implacability.

“Charles Xavier has nothing to do with this, Inspector. Do you hear me? _Nothing_.”

Logan did not back down an inch in the face of Erik’s wrath. “That may well be, Mr Lehnsherr, but we will still need to question him closely.”

“You may ask me as many questions as you wish,” Charles said. “Anything you need to establish Erik’s – and mine, if you must follow that line of enquiry – innocence.”

Logan nodded briskly, and then turned towards the door. “Come on then,” he said. “There is transport waiting outside. Perkins and I will escort you to the station, while Milsom, Green and Bosworth will stay here examine the crime scene further, and speak to any other relatives of the dead man. Are there any more of them among your guests?”

“Yes, Mr Shaw’s wife, and his ward, Miss Salvadore, are also here this weekend,” replied Charles. “And I’m sure they’re both desperate to know what has happened.”

“In that case, Bosworth has probably already identified them,” Logan said. But we may not be able to give them much more information tonight than they already have,” he added, suddenly showing an unexpected flicker of sympathy. “Although once Milsom has spoken to them, and Green has concluded his examination, they and the rest of your guests will be able to go to bed, I think.”

“I’m sure they will be very glad to hear that,” said Charles frostily. “It has been a very upsetting evening for everyone.”

“I’m sure it has.”

Logan led the way out of the library and into the hall. Another policeman – presumably Constable Perkins – was waiting there. Charles drew in a sharp breath when, at Logan’s nod, the constable detached a pair of handcuffs from his belt.

“You don’t need those, surely?”

“It’s standard procedure.”

“But Erik has already agreed to come with you. He hasn’t resisted at all.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Erik. “If it is necessary, I will of course acquiesce.” He extended his wrists calmly, and let Perkins snap the handcuffs around them. “I have nothing to fear, after all. I am innocent.”

But Charles couldn’t help but notice the way Erik’s hands curled into fists as he was forced to hold them in front of himself, and the continuing paleness of Erik’s countenance in the brighter light of the hall. He felt his own hands ball up in response.

“Charles?”

Moira had appeared suddenly from the direction of the drawing room, looking even more worried than she had before.

Logan stepped forwards before Charles could speak. “Please return to the drawing room, madam,” he said. “Constable Bosworth will let you know when we are finished for the night.”

“Wait a moment.” Charles interposed himself between Moira and the inspector. “Let me speak to her, please, just quickly. There are arrangements that will need to be made for tonight in light of what has happened.”

Logan hesitated, and then nodded, although he did not look especially happy about the situation.

“Charles, what’s happening?” Moira asked, as he drew her aside and squeezed her hands comfortingly. She was looking over at Erik, cuffed and with the looming presence of Perkins at his shoulder. “Is Mr Lehnsherr under arrest?”

“I’m afraid he is, yes,” Charles replied, forcing himself not to glance again at the metal encircling Erik’s wrists, lest his anger should bubble out of control and his grip on Moira’s hands become crushing. “But don’t worry, my dear, we’ll get everything sorted out in no time, I’m sure.”

Moira looked at him sceptically, far too intelligent to succumb to Charles’ empty platitudes. Then she narrowed her eyes. “‘We’, Charles?” she questioned. “What do you mean by that?”

“Ah, yes. I am accompanying Mr Lehnsherr and Inspector Logan to the police station,” Charles admitted.

“But you’re not under arrest too?” Moira’s face paled.

“No, no, nothing like that. I am merely assisting them with their enquires. I am a key witness, you know.”

But his attempt at levity fell as flat as his reassurance, and if anything, Moira looked even more worried. Charles hurried on to his request. “Moira, dear, everyone should be able to go to bed soon, but of course Mrs Shaw will not be able to sleep in the same room tonight. Could you arrange another one for her, please? As far from the old one as possible, perhaps.”

Moira summoned up a smile. “It is already in hand,” she said. “I’ve spoken to Randall, and he’s having the Rose Room made up. It is not as large as the other one, but somehow I don’t think Mrs Shaw will mind, given the circumstances.”

Charles smiled weakly back at her. “I should have known you would be three steps ahead of me,” he said.

“We can cope with things here,” Moira told him softly. “Just concentrate on helping Mr Lehnsherr.”

“Thank you.” Charles gave her a grateful kiss on the cheek.

Logan cleared his throat. “If you’ve quite finished, we need to be going.”

Charles turned to him. “Of course, Inspector. Please, lead on and we shall follow.”

Logan grunted in annoyance, and then started making his way towards the door, signalling to Perkins to bring Erik along. Charles started to follow, and then at the last moment turned back quickly to Moira.

“Oh, and please tell Raven not to worry too much. I’m sure we’ll both be back by morning, and I’ll speak to her then.”

Moira nodded just as Logan made an exasperated, impatient noise.

“My apologies, Inspector, I am coming now.” Charles hurried to the door, following Logan, Perkins and Erik as they were swallowed up by the darkness of the night.

*~*~*~*~*

Charles was sure that the monotonous ticking of the clock was slowly driving him mad. That self same clock was telling him that he had been sitting here for nearly three hours, but it felt like far longer. He would almost have suspected time of running at half-speed deliberately, just to draw out this torture for longer, if that hadn’t been such a patently preposterous idea.

He hadn’t seen a soul, except one nervous desk clerk who kept bring him endless cups of weak tea, since Inspector Logan had shown him into this room and told him that he would be back to talk to him presently.

Logan’s idea of ‘presently’ differed from Charles’ rather, it seemed.

Of course, he understood that questioning Erik was more important that questioning _him_ – Erik was the prime suspect, after all – but really, three hours to listen to a short account of Erik’s movements and a proclamation of innocence seemed excessive.

Charles refused to contemplate any other reasons for the delay.

But the clock ticked on and still no one came. Charles looked around again at the room he was in. He didn’t know much about police stations, but this wasn’t what he might have expected as a witness (and potential suspect – he might as well admit it to himself) in a murder case. This room was clearly Logan’s office, and therefore presumably not somewhere where witness interviews were normally held. He wondered if it was a concession to his title. Inspector Logan didn’t seem like the kind of man who would pander to the aristocracy, Charles had realised that much about him already, but he had to know that erring on the side of caution when it came to lords and viscounts was generally a good idea. Not that Charles was one of those self-important types who would complain about working men following the correct protocols for their job.

“My lord?” The desk clerk was back again, looking no less nervous than he had done on the previous three occasions. He was carrying yet another cup of tea in his hand, and Charles pasted on a grateful smile with some effort.

“I really am sorry about the delay, my lord,” the clerk babbled, as he set the cup down, slopping a fair proportion of the tea into the saucer. “It shouldn’t be too much longer now.”

Charles was fairly sure that the clerk had no idea at all about how much longer it would be, but the poor boy had obviously been told to keep him happy, and so he kept the smile fixed on his face and nodded.

“Please don’t worry. I’m perfectly happy to wait however long it takes. A few hours make no difference at all when it comes to seeing justice done.”

The clerk looked rather impressed by Charles’ words. “Oh yes, of course, my lord. Justice is so important.”

“Indeed it is.”

“Please let me know if there’s anything else you need, my lord,” the clerk said, as he retreated towards the door.

“I certainly shall. Thank you.”

The clerk all but tripped over his feet as he left the room, and Charles let his smile fade into something more rueful after the boy had gone. He had spoken the truth when he’d said he would wait as long as it took, but he couldn’t deny that he was beginning to worry about how long it _was_ taking.

However, it was only a few moments more before the sound of footsteps drew his attention, and as they came to a halt outside Charles realised that in his haste the clerk had not properly shut the office door behind him, and that some of the sounds of the police station were now filtering into the room, competing with the ticking of the clock.

“Inspector.”

“Sergeant.” 

Charles immediately recognised the second voice as Logan’s, and deduced that the other one must therefore be Milsom’s, meaning the preliminary examination of the crime scene and Shaw’s body must be completed. He held his breath as the two men continued their conversation.

“Did Green give you his report, sir?”

“He did. It makes interesting reading.”

There was the rustle of paper, and Charles realised with an uncomfortable jolt that this report could very well contain the information necessary to exonerate Erik. Or damn him.

“Dr Green mentioned something about his initial findings being inconclusive, sir.”

“That appears to be the case, unfortunately. Still, I’m sure there’s plenty more to be discovered. Now, I assume you brought the body back with you?”

“Yes, Green had it taken down to the mortuary. He’ll conduct a more thorough examination tomorrow.”

“Good. Now, I suppose I’d better speak to Xavier again. That is, if he hasn’t done a bunk in the last few hours.”

The office door was pushed abruptly open and Logan entered, eyes directed unconcernedly downwards at a sheaf of papers that was presumably Dr Green’s report.

Charles quickly arranged his features into an expression of innocence before the inspector could deduce that he had been eavesdropping, and remained quiet as the man made his way behind the desk and sat down.

There were several long moments of silence, in which Charles felt uncomfortably like a small boy summoned to the headmaster’s office, and then Logan sighed and looked up suddenly at Charles, staring at him in an unsettlingly direct manner.

“You heard all that, I suppose?” he asked.

There wasn’t much point in lying in the face of such a blatantly correct observation. “I could hardly avoid it, I’m afraid,” Charles confessed.

The look in the Logan’s eyes was shrewd as he watched Charles. However, behind that shrewdness, he might almost have been amused by the situation.

The idea gave Charles the confidence to ask the question he was longing to. “So what does ‘inconclusive’ mean, exactly?”

“We’ll get to that.” Logan deliberately shuffled the pages of the report back into a neat pile and laid them on the desk, off to one side.

Charles risked another question. “How is Mr Lehnsherr, then?”

“Proclaiming his innocence rather firmly,” Logan said, with a wry quirk of his lips. “As I’m sure you’re aware.”

“But do you…?”

“Lord Xavier, I believe I am here to question you, not the other way around,” Logan cut in. “Special allowances have already been made on account of your title and position. Please don’t try my patience further.”

Charles stared for a moment, and then protested, “I never asked for any special allowances. I just want the chance to help prove my friend’s innocence.”

“And you’ll get that chance if you allow _me_ to ask the questions,” Logan said.

The man had a point, Charles supposed. He subsided, although he couldn’t help the way his eyes darted periodically to the report on the desk.

“Thank you,” Logan continued. “Now, you’ve already told me why you followed Lehnsherr upstairs, and what you found when you got there, and I have to say, a lot of people wouldn’t be convinced by that tale.”

“It’s what happened,” said Charles stubbornly. “He’s innocent, Inspector. I really believe that.”

“Indeed.” Logan himself didn’t look particularly convinced, however, and Charles felt his heart sink at the same time as his determination hardened.

“Now, just a few more questions,” Logan said. “Going back to before you both left the drawing room to look for Shaw, when was the last time you saw him alive?”

Charles pondered for a moment, and then said, “Well, it wasn’t so much saw as heard.”

“Explain.”

“Mr Lehnsherr had agreed to join me for a drink before dinner,” said Charles. “We were making our way downstairs when we heard Mr Shaw…chastising his valet.”

“Chastising?”

“Yes.”

“And this was happening inside Shaw’s room?”

“That’s right. Shaw’s voice was rather loud, so we could hear it from the corridor.”

“And what did he say?”

“Something about sending Mr Quested back where he had come from if he couldn’t get things right.”

“Quested is the valet?”

“Yes.”

“And the voice you heard was definitely Shaw’s?”

“Most certainly.”

“But you didn’t actually _see_ Shaw?”

“No. Quested came out of the room straight afterwards, though, and explained what the problem was.”

“Hmmm, it sounds like we’ll need to speak with this Mr Quested, among others.”

“Surely you don’t think he had anything to do with this? He left after we had spoken, and as far as I am aware had no reason to return upstairs.”

“Did you see exactly where he went after he’d left you?”

“Well, no…”

“Therefore, as of this moment we don’t know whether he has a solid alibi for the time between when you and Lehnsherr saw him and when you found Shaw dead. So we must question him.”

“But the other servants will have seen him.”

“And if that’s the case, then he’ll be in the clear. But until then, someone must have had something to do with Shaw’s death,” replied Logan. “Since you seem so adamant that your friend Mr Lehnsherr is innocent of the crime. And it doesn’t sound like Shaw treated his valet particularly well.”

“That doesn’t make Quested a murderer.”

“No, but it does make him a suspect.”

The truth of this was undeniable, as was Logan’s assertion that _someone_ had to have murdered Shaw. And as much as Charles didn’t want to think anyone capable of such a thing, he believed in Erik’s innocence enough to acknowledge that another person had to be responsible.

Logan had opened a notebook and was jotting something down in it. “We’ll need to talk to everyone currently in your household,” he said. “Guests and residents alike.”

“I’m sure they’ll all be more than happy to assist with your enquiries, Inspector,” Charles told him. “Although,” he added, “I hope you will take into account that everyone is likely to be rather upset.”

“We’ll be as sensitive as we can, but this is a murder investigation, after all.”

Charles grasped at the word. “So you are still _investigating_ then?” he asked. “And if Janos Quested is a suspect, that must mean you’re not completely convinced of Mr Lehnsherr’s guilt.”

Logan looked annoyed, but also almost impressed, despite himself. “Certain things don’t add up,” he admitted. “Your friend Mr Lehnsherr seems like an intelligent man. Too intelligent to allow himself to be found standing over the dead body of someone he’s admitted he hated.”

“He told you that?”

“He did. He was remarkably candid, in fact. Almost as if he was trying to demonstrate he has nothing to hide.”

“He doesn’t.”

Logan grunted noncommittally, and then reached over and picked up the report again. “This,” he said, “as you’ve already heard, was somewhat inconclusive. Oh, the cause of death is apparent enough – Shaw was stabbed several times using a pair of scissors. His assailant managed to injure him in areas that resulted in fast, heavy blood loss, but whether that was by accident or design is unclear, although Dr Green thinks it was probably the former. There are indications that the attack was frenzied rather than deliberate.”

“Indications?”

“Many of the items on top of the dressing table were in disarray, as if someone had fallen against it and disturbed them. The theory is that, based on the position of the body, _Shaw_ was the one that had done the pushing, and the murderer, whoever they were, grabbed blindly for some weapon, came up with the scissors, and stabbed out wildly. Shaw then reeled back and collapsed to the floor by the bed.”

“That sounds fairly conclusive to me.”

“It seems solid enough, yes,” Logan agreed. “Unfortunately, I’m having some difficulty fitting Lehnsherr into that picture.”

“How so?” Charles asked tentatively, sensing a flicker of hope.

“Because Lehnsherr doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who would allow himself to be intimidated in such a way,” Logan said. “And I have my doubts that Shaw _could_ have threatened him like that, even if he wanted to. A physical confrontation between those two would have resulted in much more evidence of a disturbance than an untidy dressing table, I should think.”

Charles held his breath, waiting.

“And it’s not just that,” Logan continued, looking thoroughly disgruntled now. “According to Green, the site of at least one of the injuries – in the side of the neck – would have meant a pretty uncontrolled rush of blood from Shaw, one that the assailant would most likely not have been able to avoid. And as I understand it, Lehnsherr had no blood on him when you found him.”

“None,” Charles confirmed. “As you saw for yourself when you arrived.”

“As I saw for myself, yes,” Logan said, sighing.

“There were splashes of blood in numerous places over the room, though,” Charles offered, tensing against the memory of all that sickening redness.

“Which I also saw.”

“Was Dr Green able to conclude the time of death?”

“Not with any accuracy, no. The time frame is just too short. All he would commit to was ‘probably no more than two hours earlier’. Which doesn’t help me – or Lehnsherr – in the slightest.”

The flicker of hope grew a little stronger. “So,” Charles prodded gently, “you believe that Erik is innocent?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Logan snapped. Then he gave Charles a sharp, pointed look. “And I don’t know why I’m telling you all this either, Xavier,” he added. “You’re a witness, not a colleague. And a very _biased_ witness, at best. In fact, Milsom would have me believe you’re something more than that, even. If he had his way, you’d be lined up right alongside Lehnsherr as a suspect.”

“But you don’t think…?”

“No, I don’t,” said Logan tiredly. “I don’t think you’re any less intelligent than Lehnsherr. And both of you are too clever to kill a man and then make it completely damn obvious that you’re the culprits.”

“So what are you going to do? Are you going to charge Erik?”

Logan frowned, hesitating. Then he sighed again, noisy and irritated. “No, I’m not,” he said eventually. “So help me, it’s probably the wrong thing to do, but I’ve always trusted my instincts, and they’re telling me that your friend didn’t do it.”

“You’ll let him go, then?” The flicker flared up into a flame.

“Yes, on one condition,” said Logan. “That _you_ keep an eye on him, until this mess is resolved. You’ll be responsible for him, _you’ll_ vouch for him.”

“Of course,” said Charles instantly.

“Just so we’re clear, that means if I’m wrong and he does a bunk as soon as he’s out of the police station, things will get rather unpleasant for you,” Logan added. “In a way that all your money and titles won’t be able to protect you from.”

“I’ve already told you I don’t want any special treatment on account of that,” Charles said.

“Good, because you won’t get it, not from me. I’ll stretch as far as a comfortable office instead of an interrogation room, but not further. My instincts are telling me to do this, Xavier, not fear of any influence you might wield.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way, Inspector,” Charles told him. He stood up. “I thank you and your instincts.”

Logan huffed. “Just don’t make me regret it,” he muttered.

“You won’t,” Charles promised. “Now, will you take me to Erik?”

Logan stood likewise. “Come on, then.”

They didn’t have to go far, however. Charles had expected to be led to an interview room, or even to the cells. But as they emerged from Logan’s office, Charles spotted Erik instantly, seated in the corridor under the nervous eye of the desk clerk and the glowering one of Sergeant Milsom.

“Erik!” Charles exclaimed, and rushed over to him.

Erik smiled up at him tiredly, the expression at odds with the faintly sardonic tone of his voice as he murmured, “Good evening, Lord Xavier.”

Charles rolled his eyes, and asked, “Are you all right?”

“As well as can be expected. I suppose I have you to thank for my freedom, do I?”

“No, actually,” Charles told him. “It’s all Inspector Logan’s doing. He believes you are innocent.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Xavier,” Logan said from behind them. But Erik nonetheless stood up and nodded to him, although he looked somewhat surprised.

“Thank you, Inspector.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Logan replied. “It would make my life a whole lot easier if I just decided you were guilty. So you’d better hope I don’t change my mind. In fact, perhaps you should go before I do just that.”

“Of course,” Charles said quickly. “Come on, Erik.”

“Inspector, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Milsom protested. “All the evidence points…”

“All the evidence does _not_ point,” Logan interrupted, with an air of someone who had already had this conversation more than once. Then he added, “Don’t worry, Sergeant, your objections are noted. No blame will fall on you if I turn out to have been wrong.”

The disdain was clear in Logan’s voice, and Charles realised that they had indeed found an ally, albeit one who they would have to work to keep on their side.

“Perkins will take you home now,” Logan had continued. “Milsom left Bosworth behind at your house when he returned here with the body, and the constable will remain on the premises for the rest of the night. _No_ arguments,” he added, when he saw that Charles was about to do just that. “It’s not just to keep any eye on you two – he’ll make sure the crime scene remains undisturbed, and keep watch for anything unusual. Might I remind you that a man was murdered in your house this evening, Xavier? And if your friend here didn’t do it, then someone else did. Someone who is quite possibly still under your roof.”

With an uncomfortable jolt, Charles realised that Logan was right. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

“Exactly,” Logan said, seeing the realisation. “So Bosworth will be a guest of yours, and I’ll be along tomorrow morning,” Logan paused and looked up at the clock above the clerk’s desk, “no, later _this_ morning, to talk to everyone else. Particularly Janos Quested. I would appreciate it if you didn’t warn him that I’m coming.”

Reluctantly, Charles nodded. He no more believed in Quested’s guilt than Erik’s, although he couldn’t say why. But they needed to remain in Logan’s good graces, and if Quested was innocent then he had nothing to fear, after all.

“And you, Lehnsherr,” said Logan, “will remain in Xavier’s house, as Xavier’s responsibility, until further notice. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Inspector,” Erik replied. He caught Charles’ eye momentarily, and Charles could tell that he also understood _all_ the consequences of failing to abide by Logan’s instruction. Charles smiled reassuringly.

“Good. Now get out of my sight, both of you,” Logan said. “This is all turning out far messier than I’d like, and I don’t know about you, but I need a few hours sleep before trying to deal with any more of it.”


	8. Chapter 8

Charles had long since decided that his butler was perfectly capable of doing without sleep when necessary, and this theory was only bolstered when, as they drew up before the steps, the front door of the house was opened to reveal Randall, looking as pristine as ever as he waited for them.

If the man was at all surprised to see Erik returning, he hid it admirably, merely wishing them all a polite “Good morning,” as they mounted the stairs.

Charles supposed it _was_ morning, although the hour was still very early. Only the slightest lightening of the sky in the east indicated that dawn was approaching, and he knew that if this had been any normal day his subconscious mind wouldn’t have been considering awakening him for several hours yet.

“There was no need to wait up for us, Randall,” Charles said. “Particularly as we might have been back much later than this.”

“It was no trouble, my lord,” replied Randall serenely, and Charles knew that was the end of the conversation.

Charles ushered Erik into the house ahead of him, while Perkins waited at the bottom of the steps, presumably to make sure they didn’t make a run for it between the police vehicle and the door. Charles took a moment to nod to the constable, and then Randall was closing the door behind them, shutting out what remained of the night.

However, as they passed through the vestibule and into the main hall, Charles spotted Constable Bosworth immediately. The policeman’s surprise upon seeing Erik was less successfully concealed, but he didn’t question Erik’s presence, instead stepping forward to address Charles.

“I take it the inspector told you I would still be here, sir?” he said.

“Yes,” Charles replied. “Constable Bosworth is remaining here for a little longer to keep watch over the crime scene,” he told Randall. “Perhaps you could find him a bed somewhere?”

“If you’ll pardon me, sir,” Bosworth put in, “I can hardly keep watch on anything if I’m tucked up in bed, can I? I’m required to post myself outside the deceased’s bedroom for the remainder of the night.”

“Is that really necessary?” Charles asked. “I’m not sure my guests would like the idea of a policeman lurking around near their bedrooms all night.”

“Quite necessary, sir,” said Bosworth stolidly.

“Very well, then. Can we at least offer you a chair, though? Surely there’s no need for you to be standing up the whole time.”

“That would be much appreciated, sir,” Bosworth allowed.

“Good. See to that then, would you, Randall?”

“Of course, my lord. I shall return immediately to assist yourself and Mr Lehnsherr.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Charles said. “I feel strangely awake at the moment – I won’t be going to bed for a while, despite the hour.”

It was true enough. Even though this was his second disturbed night in a row, Charles did not feel sleepy in the slightest. Too much in his head again, he supposed.

“And Mr Lehnsherr, my lord?”

“Oh.” Suddenly, Charles realised that his wakefulness might not also apply to Erik, especially given what the man had been though in the past few hours. “Of course. I am sorry, my friend,” he said contritely, turning to Erik. “You must be desperate for your bed, I’m sure.”

“Not quite as desperate as all that,” replied Erik. “I will keep you company for a while, if you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. I would welcome it.”

“Then, I shall leave you both alone, my lord,” said Randall, “and get the constable settled.”

“Thank you, Randall.”

The butler nodded, and then led Bosworth away across the dimly lit hall and up the stairs, his light footsteps and Bosworth’s heavier tread fading away into the muffled silence of the sleeping house.

Charles hesitated for a moment, listening to the quiet. It was hard to believe that a violent murder had taken place here such a short time before. It could almost have been a dream, except that in his mind’s eye he could still see the splashes of blood, and the stark paleness of Erik’s face, both too vivid to be anything but reality.

“Charles,” said Erik quietly, and Charles startled, aware that he had been lingering over his morbid remembrances for longer than he’d meant to.

“My apologies,” he said. “My mind wandered for a moment.”

“Are you sure you’re as awake as you claim?” Erik asked, a touch of amusement in his voice that warmed Charles’ heart.

“Quite awake,” he replied. “I do not think I could sleep right now if I tried.”

“There is nothing like being accused of murder to drive away the desire for slumber,” Erik agreed, the amusement turning wry and self-deprecating in a way Charles did not like.

“But you are innocent, and therefore it does not signify,” he said.

“It will signify if the real murderer cannot be found,” Erik said. “The police _will_ have a culprit, in the end.”

“Inspector Logan believes you are innocent,” Charles argued. “He won’t let anyone lay the blame on you.”

“He may not have a choice. Shaw was wealthy, and respected. Someone will have to pay.”

“Well, it won’t be you,” Charles retorted. “ _I_ won’t let anyone lay the blame on you.”

Almost unconsciously, he drew closer to Erik, looking up at him beseechingly as he murmured, “Please don’t speak in that way. You _are_ innocent, and it _will_ be proved, once and for all.”

“Why do you believe that so strongly?” Erik said. “Why do you care so much what happens to me?”

His tone was bemused, and a little lost, as if he honestly couldn’t fathom why anyone would have such faith in him, and it almost hurt Charles to hear it.

“Do you honestly not know?” he asked softly, the question so very dangerous, but he was incapable of keeping it back.

“We hardly know each other, Charles. No one has ever looked out for me so fervently since my parents. You cannot really…”

Charles kissed him. As with his words, he was powerless to prevent himself. And as words were not enough, he would have to _show_ Erik.

It was nothing more than a chaste press of lips, but it effectively silenced Erik’s flow of self-recrimination. It silenced _everything_ for a moment, and then Charles whispered, “ _That_ is why.”

But Erik said nothing in response, and in the continuing hush Charles felt the realisation of what he had done seed itself in his consciousness, and grow quickly into doubt, and then fear.

“Erik, I…”

“Charles? Is that you?”

Raven’s voice interrupted him, although what he could have said he wasn’t quite sure, leaving him uncertain whether he was grateful for the rescue or not.

“Charles?”

Suddenly, he realised what they must look like, standing so close together, and he stepped away from Erik’s frozen figure, turning to see Raven coming down the stairs. “Yes, darling, it’s us. Mr Lehnsherr is here too.”

“I can see that. And Randall told me, anyway.”

“Randall?”

“I met him upstairs, with that police constable.”

“Did they wake you?”

“Not being asleep in the first place, that wasn’t a problem. As if I could have slept knowing that you were being interrogated by the police! I heard you arrive back, and then Randall told me you were both down here when I passed him in the corridor.”

“Oh, dearest, there was nothing to worry about.”

“There was _everything_ to worry about,” Raven corrected sharply. She had reached the bottom of the stairs, and hurried over to Charles to embrace him.

Charles folded his arms around her, feeling the chill in her body despite the wrap she had draped over her nightdress. “Raven, you’re cold.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Raven said, her voice a little muffled where her face was pressed into his shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re back. _Both_ of you.”

“Thank you, Miss Xavier.” Erik appeared to have found his voice finally, and no hint of what had just passed between himself and Charles was evident in his tone. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s late, and I think I shall go to bed.”

“Oh, but…” Charles started, and then bit his tongue, aware that Erik might now have a very good reason not to want to remain in his company. “Of course. Good-night, my friend.”

“Good-night,” Erik replied, perfectly correct. “Good-night, Miss Xavier.”

Charles wasn’t aware he was staring after Erik until he felt Raven nudge him gently. When he looked round at her he saw that she was smiling.

“I am glad Mr Lehnsherr has been freed,” she said. “For his sake and _yours_ , Charles.”

“I’m glad too,” Charles said honestly. “Although there is always a chance it may not be permanent.”

“Will you tell me exactly what happened?”

“I don’t think…”

“I’m not a little girl any more,” Raven pointed out. “And I think that, perhaps, you need someone to talk to about it.”

Charles sighed, and gave in. His sister was too perceptive for her own good sometimes. “Very well,” he said. “But come to the library – I won’t keep you standing around in this draughty hallway when you’re already shivering.”

There was no fire in the library, and Charles’ skills did not quite match up to Erik’s when it came to starting one, so instead he had Raven curl up in one of the chairs in front of the empty hearth, and then took off his overcoat and tucked it around her, ignoring her quiet protests. She looked faintly ridiculous under her makeshift blanket, but at least she would be kept from the worst of the cold.

“Now, first tell me how everyone is here,” he said, sitting opposite her. “They’re all in bed, I assume, not wandering the corridors like you?”

“All in bed,” Raven confirmed. “Although how many are actually sleeping might be a different matter.”

“How is Mrs Shaw?”

“Upset, of course,” Raven said, after thinking for a moment. “It was clearly a shock to her, hearing news like that. And yet…”

“What is it?”

“I couldn’t help but think she was not quite as upset as she appeared,” Raven continued. “It’s a terrible thing to say, but it seemed like all her distress was on the surface, almost as if she was putting on a show, demonstrating what was expected and nothing more.”

“Well, not all marriages are happy ones,” Charles said grudgingly.

“But surely no one could be glad that their husband had been murdered!”

There was nothing really to say to that, so Charles asked another question. “What about everyone else?”

“Miss Salvadore – Angel – was very distressed. Almost hysterical. Moira wanted to put her to bed, except that the police wouldn’t let anyone leave the drawing room until they had taken the body away. The poor girl was distraught.”

“I’m sorry, dearest.”

“I think she needs your sympathy more than I do, Charles.”

“Are you all right, though?”

“I’m perfectly fine. I was shocked – everyone was – but somehow it still doesn’t seem quite real. Murder, in this house! It’s like something out of a lurid novel.”

“Except, in this case, very much _not_ fictional,” Charles said grimly.

Raven looked at him sympathetically. “Can you tell me what happened?” she asked again. “The police must have thought Mr Lehnsherr had something to do with it, but now they’ve freed him. Please tell me.”

So Charles did, editing heavily the details of Shaw’s death, but being as honest as possible about Erik’s apparent role in things.

“And you really do believe in his innocence?” Raven said, when he had finished. “Truly?”

“I do,” Charles replied. “I know he is not responsible.”

“Well, if you believe it, then I do too. You’re a good judge of character. Even if,” for a moment Raven smiled impishly, “I believe you may be a little biased in this instance.”

“Raven!” Charles protested, albeit half-heartedly. Then he chuckled weakly. “I suppose you’re right. Although that doesn’t lessen my belief one bit. And besides, Inspector Logan has doubts about his guilt too. Strong doubts.”

“Well, then, neither you nor Mr Lehnsherr has anything to worry about.”

Privately, Charles thought that he and Mr Lehnsherr had rather a lot to worry about, especially considering Charles’ latest foolish actions. But despite her sympathetic ear, and her acceptance, he couldn’t talk to Raven about that.

There was only one person he _could_ talk to about it.

“You should try to get some sleep, Charles,” Raven said gently. “It’s been an eventful day.”

Charles realised he had let his mind wander again, and he recognised the merit of Raven words. However, despite the tiredness he could feel lurking at the edges of his consciousness, like a wild beast waiting to pounce the moment he let his guard down, he knew he would still not be able to sleep. Like the previous night, his head was full – too full to allow him an escape into slumber.

But he also knew he could not tell Raven that. She would only worry. So instead he smiled and nodded. “I will. I’ll come upstairs soon. But don’t let me keep you up any longer. You’re still cold, I can tell, and there’s no reason for you to lose any more sleep.”

Raven gave him a suspicious look – she knew him far too well – but nonetheless slid from underneath his coat, pulling her wrap more closely around herself as she leaned over and dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “Good-night, then, Charles. Everything will be well, I know it.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Charles squeezed her hand quickly, and then let her go so she could go back to her bed.

He, however, remained sitting in the library, in the gradually paling light of the dawn, until a small scream from the housemaid who had come to lay the fire – the sight of the master of house sitting alone and statue-like an unexpected shock at that time of the morning – roused him.

He apologised to the poor girl, and then finally took himself upstairs. Now that morning had come, it was time to dress for breakfast.

*~*~*~*~*

After the excitement of the previous evening, Charles had thought it entirely possible that the group around the breakfast table would be severely depleted, or at the very least, less punctual than usual. He had an advantage, of course, not having been to bed and therefore able to dress quickly, but he wouldn’t have blamed anyone else for being tardy, and indeed, was already thinking about daring Mrs Daly’s wrath and asking for the breakfast dishes to be held back until more people arrived. He would be perfectly content with coffee and toast until more people joined him.

However, he was somewhat surprised to discover that almost everyone else was in the breakfast room before him, with a disgruntled looking George hurrying to lay out the dishes on the sideboard so people could start serving themselves.

Only the members of the Shaw party were conspicuous by their absence, which Charles supposed was natural enough, given that Emma Shaw and Miss Salvadore had suffered a very great shock (Raven’s opinion’s of Mrs Shaw’s reaction notwithstanding), and Erik had had a very trying, and very late, night.

Everyone else, however, was obviously sufficiently desperate for news that they had shaken off any sleeplessness or worry that might have plagued them during the night, and come downstairs in good time.

The babble of enquires broke out as soon as he entered the breakfast room, and he was forced to raise his voice to quiet everybody, before he collected a cup of coffee and related the same version of events he had told Raven a few hours earlier, only this time he kept the details of Erik’s involvement rather more vague. He could not avoid telling them that Erik had originally been arrested for committing the crime, of course, but he limited his explanation of the man’s quick release to nothing more than a brief intimation of the police’s belief in his innocence. His own fervent conviction of Erik’s lack of guilt he kept to himself.

“But do the police have another suspect?” Armando asked, his penetrating look indicating his suspicions that Charles hadn’t told all.

“They have some ideas,” Charles replied. “That’s why Inspector Logan is coming here this morning, to talk to everyone.”

That provoked another outbreak of chatter, until Hank asked, “But surely he doesn’t think we’re _all_ suspects?”

“I’m perfectly certain he doesn’t,” Charles assured them all. “But the police will need as much information as they can get, and as we were all in the house at the time of the…crime, it may be that one us will be able to shed some light on things. Perhaps someone knows something they don’t realise they know, for example.”

 _That_ prompted a few moments of silence, as everyone wracked their brains trying to think of something that might help, until Sean said, with a little too much relish, “Imagine, being involved in a murder investigation. How exciting!”

“Really, Mr Cassidy,” Moira protested, at the same time as Charles said sharply, “Sean! Please recall that there are ladies present…”

“Oh, good morning, Mrs Shaw,” Raven said suddenly, and a trifle too loudly, cutting across the recriminations.

Charles looked round quickly to see Emma Shaw standing in the doorway of the breakfast room, surveying them all expressionlessly. There was a pause in which everyone seemed frozen in place, and then Charles hurried forward to guide the lady to a seat.

“Please, sit down here, Mrs Shaw. Can I get you anything? Tea, perhaps?”

“Yes, thank you.” Emma Shaw sank gracefully into a seat, and Charles quickly poured her a cup of steaming tea.

Everyone else had pointedly turned back to their own breakfast, but the continuing silence was enough to telegraph that they were all still paying rather more attention to Mrs Shaw than to their food.

“Do you take milk or sugar?” Charles asked desperately, feeling acutely the triviality of the question but unable to find a way to address the rather large elephant in the room.

“Just a little milk.”

Charles complied with the request, and then watched as Mrs Shaw stirred the tea meticulously. The motion was almost hypnotic, and it wasn’t until she tapped the teaspoon on the rim of the cup that he blinked and blurted suddenly, “Please allow me to offer my condolences on your loss.” Then he cringed, ashamed of exposing the poor woman to such a public display.

“Thank you,” said Emma Shaw correctly, and raised her teacup to her lips.

Somewhat confused, Charles sat down next to her. Close up, her perfect composure was even more apparent. There was perhaps a faint hint of redness around the eyes, but that could just as easily have been caused by sleeplessness as by tears, and apart from that, her appearance was flawless. Charles couldn’t help but remember again Raven’s assessment of Mrs Shaw’s reaction to the news of her husband’s death the night before, and he began to wonder if maybe his sister hadn’t been correct. At any rate, he began to feel a little less guilty about his previous tactless words. Nothing had forced the lady to join them this morning – he wouldn’t have blamed any grieving widow for taking breakfast in her room, to ensure her some privacy, but Mrs Shaw obviously hadn’t felt the need to hide herself away.

He wished, however, that someone would break the silence that still reigned over the breakfast table, and happily, a moment or two later, Moira did exactly that, asking Raven whether she had slept well. At the other end of the table, Sean and Alex had put their heads together and were talking in low voices. They were no doubt still discussing the murder, but so long as their words remained out of earshot, Charles supposed he could not admonish them for it – not without drawing attention to them, at any rate.

Emma Shaw said nothing else, however, and it was with a sense of slight relief that Charles returned to his own breakfast, and with even more relief that he answered a question Henry put to him about their shared scientific interests.

Still, the conversation around the table remained stilted and somewhat forced, continuing in only fits and starts until the breakfast room door opened again, and Randall led Inspector Logan into the room.

“Inspector!” Charles said, with more enthusiasm than the man had probably been expecting. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Logan returned, and then pointedly let his eye rove over everyone in the room.

Charles quickly identified everyone, starting with Raven and ending with Emma Shaw, although he was sure that Logan in fact already knew who everyone was, thanks to Milsom and Bosworth’s reports.

“Ah, yes, my condolences, madam,” said Logan, sounding gruff and perfunctory, and yet at the same time far more sincere than Charles had managed when expressing his own sympathies.

“Thank you, Inspector,” Emma Shaw replied, still looking completely calm and collected.

“No doubt Lord Xavier has told you all that I’ll need to talk to each and every one of you today.” Logan addressed the room at large. “In most cases this will probably just be routine, and there will be nothing to worry about. But make no mistake, ladies and gents, I’m investigating a serious crime, and I _will_ get to the bottom of things, so I advise you not to try to hide anything from me, no matter how insignificant or personal you think it is.”

“I’m sure you can count on everybody’s cooperation, Inspector,” said Charles, and a concurring murmur went around the room.

“Thank you. There’s also one other thing. While the murder weapon was quite clearly identifiable at the crime scene, I’ll need to have the rest of the house searched, including all your rooms and belongings, for further evidence.”

The announcement caused a certain amount of consternation – a confusion of questions and protests that left Logan in little doubt of everyone’s distaste for such a course of action. But the inspector merely waited patiently until the hubbub had died away, and then continued.

“We’ll endeavour to leave everything as we find it, of course, but this _must_ be done. We can’t leave any stone unturned.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Hank spoke up. “Very well, Inspector Logan. You may start with my room, if you like.”

Charles shot him a grateful look for setting a good example as Logan nodded to him.

“Thank you, sir. Much appreciated.” Then the inspector turned to Emma Shaw. “Madam, I’ll need to speak to you as soon as possible, when you have finished your breakfast and I have set my men to work.”

“Of course, Inspector. I shall assist you in any way I am able.”

“Thank you. Lord Xavier, I’ll need a room to conduct the interviews in. Somewhere we won’t be constantly disturbed.”

“Oh, yes, by all means.” Charles thought quickly. “What about the library again? I think that will prove the least inconvenient for everyone else.”

“That’ll be fine.”

Charles turned likewise to Emma Shaw. “Would you like me to be present while the Inspector questions you, my dear? I’d be more than happy to accompany you, if the inspector has no objections.”

“No, I will be perfectly fine, thank you,” Emma Shaw replied coolly, leaving Charles floundering a little.

“Yes, of course, I didn’t mean to imply…”

“Xavier, if I might have a private word with you before we begin?” Logan interrupted, somewhat to Charles’ relief. He gestured for Charles to follow him out of the breakfast room and back to the hall, and Charles followed gratefully.

There, they found Sergeant Milsom and Constables Perkins and Bosworth waiting. Milsom shot Charles a look of dislike when he appeared, although he was careful not to let Logan notice it. Charles, however, knew what he had seen.

“Perkins and Bosworth are here to conduct the search,” Logan said. “I’m hoping your butler will able to take them upstairs and get them started. And if he could identify who is staying in each room as well, that would be very helpful.”

Charles realised that Randall had also followed them out of the breakfast room, his butler’s sixth sense once again prompting him to be in the right place at the right time. He nodded his acquiescence to Logan’s plan.

“And then, once he has taken them upstairs, perhaps he could bring Janos Quested along for questioning. I assume Quested is still in the house?”

“He is, sir.” Randall answered for Charles. “He is downstairs at this very moment, eating breakfast with the other servants. I shall bring him up directly.”

“Thank you,” said Logan. “I think we can probably finish up with him before Mrs Shaw is ready to see us. And Quested is now our chief suspect, after all.”

“Where’s Erik Lehnsherr?” Milsom cut in suddenly, the expression on his face making it plain that he thought Erik’s absence highly suspicious. And that he still had his own ideas as to whom the chief suspect was.

“Still in bed,” Charles replied instantly, certain enough that it must be true that he spoke without compunction. “Which isn’t unreasonable when you consider how late he and I were kept up last night.”

“Quite understandable,” said Logan. “But we may need to have another word with him later, so he should rouse himself at some point before it begins to get dark again.” Then the inspector pulled a notebook out of his pocket and consulted it. “There is also the matter of…Miss Angel Salvadore, is it? Sebastian Shaw’s ward? I didn’t see her at breakfast, and we’ll definitely need to talk to her as well.”

“She must still be in bed too,” said Charles. “My sister tells me she was most upset last night – I wouldn’t be surprised if she did not sleep well.”

“If I may, my lord?” Randall was still hovering, while the police constables were waiting nearby. “I believe Miss Salvadore did not feel up to seeing a lot of people this morning – a breakfast tray was sent up to her room shortly before the inspector arrived.”

“There, Inspector,” said Charles. “The poor girl is still clearly distressed. Must you talk to her today?”

“We must talk to everyone today,” replied Logan inexorably. “Especially those closest to the deceased. We’ll try to be as gentle as possible with the girl, however, don’t worry.”

“Very well. Although I’m afraid I must insist she has someone accompany her into her interview, for moral support. I wouldn’t like to think of her being interrogated alone.”

“I suppose I can allow that. I take it you were thinking of yourself?”

“She is my guest,” Charles pointed out. “All this did happen under my roof. It is the least I can do.”

“All right, then. Now, Milsom and I will adjourn to the library, so we can arrange ourselves before Randall returns with Quested. If you need anything from that room, I suggest you collect it now.”

“Of course, Inspector. Randall, be as quick as you can, please.”

“Naturally, my lord.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Charles, is this really necessary?” Raven asked, sighing in exasperation as Charles closed the library door. “I’ll be all right.”

“Raven, you’re my sister, and I’m not leaving you to deal with this on your own,” Charles told her. Then he softened his voice. “Please?”

“Oh, very well.” Sighing again, but also with a certain amount of understanding in her expression, Raven sat down in the chair in front of the desk. Opposite her sat Inspector Logan, with Sergeant Milsom standing next to him.

At a nod from Logan, Charles positioned himself to one side, and gave Raven an encouraging smile. He was glad the police inspector hadn’t argued when he’d added Raven to list of people whose interviews he wanted to be present for. Not that he thought Raven would have a particularly difficult time of it – he was sure she knew nothing, and Logan would realise that quickly enough – but his protective instincts were obviously on fine form, and there wasn’t a chance he would have let her go through this alone.

“Miss Xavier,” Logan began, “perhaps you could describe your movements yesterday evening to me. Starting from when the dinner gong was rung?”

“All right.” Raven thought for a moment. “Well, I was in the drawing room with Mrs Shaw, Miss Salvadore and Moira when the gong rang, so we went upstairs together and then went to our own rooms to get dressed.”

“Did you actually see all three ladies go into their rooms?” Logan asked.

“Moira, yes. Her room is on the same corridor as mine. Mrs Shaw and Miss Salvadore, no. The guest rooms are in a different part of the house, and we separated at the top of the stairs.”

“So you didn’t see them enter their rooms?”

“No. But where else would they have gone?”

“Never mind. Please continue. Your maid was in your room with you, I assume?”

“Yes, Brooke helped me dress, as usual.”

“And how long did that take?”

“About an hour.”

“So the gong rang at,” Logan consulted his notebook, “half-past-seven, and you would say you were dressed by half-past-eight?”

“That sounds about right, yes. I couldn’t be exact, though.”

“And did you see anyone else apart from your maid during that time?”

Raven glanced at Charles quickly. “Only my brother, when he was on his way downstairs.”

“And what time was this?”

“Well, again, I couldn’t be exact, but it wasn’t that long after I started dressing. Perhaps around a quarter-to-eight.”

“So Lord Xavier was dressed quickly?”

Raven frowned. “Yes. Although I have no idea what time Charles went upstairs to change for dinner. He might have gone up earlier, before the gong, and got dressed in the normal amount of time. Why are you asking me about him, anyway? Surely you don’t suspect him?”

“I’m just trying to establish where everyone was and what their movements were, Miss Xavier,” Logan said. “Please don’t be alarmed.”

“It’s all right, Raven,” Charles added. “Just answer the inspector’s questions truthfully.”

Raven shot him a sharply defiant look, and Charles’ heart sank. But when she answered Logan’s next question, she seemed calm enough, and he breathed a little easier.

“Did your brother say why he was going downstairs early?”

“Just that he was going to have a drink and see if there was anyone else ready early to keep him company while he waited for dinner.”

“So you didn’t accompany him?”

“I was hardly in a fit state to accompany him at that moment, Inspector,” Raven retorted.

“Of course. So, after you’d seen your brother, what happened?”

“Brooke came back, and I finished dressing.”

“Your maid _came back?_ ” Logan pounced on the words. “Where had she been?”

“To fetch some buttons. The dress I wanted to wear was missing two.”

“So you were alone in your room?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Oh, look here,” Charles protested, suddenly realising where the line of questioning was headed, “how could you think Raven had anything to do with this? It’s utterly ridiculous.”

“I’m sure it is, Xavier,” replied Logan. “But like I said, I’m just trying to establish all the facts of last night.”

“It’s all right, Charles,” Raven said, echoing his own earlier words. “I know I have nothing to fear.”

“Thank you, Miss Xavier. So, I ask again, how long were you alone in your room?”

“Less than ten minutes.”

“And you maid will corroborate this, I’m sure.”

“Of course she will.”

“Good.” Logan made a note in his notebook. “So, when you were dressed, you went straight downstairs?”

“Yes. I met Mr Muñoz on my way and he escorted me down to the drawing room, where we normally gathered to wait for the dinner gong.”

“And you didn’t see anyone else on the way down?”

“No.”

“Were you and Mr Muñoz the first to arrive in the drawing room?”

“Oh, no. Mrs Shaw was there already.”

“Mrs Shaw? Was she alone?”

“Yes, she was.”

“And dressed for dinner?”

“Perfectly dressed.”

“Did she say anything to you when you arrived?”

“Only ‘good evening’.” Raven hesitated, and then continued. “She didn’t seem disposed to chat.”

“Hmmmm…” Logan made another note, and then gestured for Raven to carry on.

“Well, then Charles and Mr Lehnsherr arrived, and after that everyone else until Mr Shaw was the only one missing.”

“Can you remember in what order the rest of the party entered the drawing room?”

Raven considered. “No, I’m afraid I can’t,” she said eventually. “Oh, except that Henry – that is, Mr McCoy – was last.”

“Mr McCoy?”

“Yes, he was worried he might be late, but of course he wasn’t – oh!” Suddenly Raven looked frightened. “But it couldn’t have been Mr McCoy. Please don’t think that…”

“Calm down, Miss Xavier, we _don’t_ think that. Lateness is not an automatic sign of being a murderer.”

“Good,” Charles interrupted, moved by his sister’s fear and his friendship with Henry, “because I can’t think of anyone less likely to murder…well, _anyone_ , than Henry McCoy.”

“Thank you, Lord Xavier, I’ll bear that in mind,” said Logan, a trifle dryly. “Now, Miss Xavier, if we could finish up?”

Raven quickly related her perspective on the sequence of events that had led up to Charles leaving the drawing room in search of Shaw and Erik, which added very little to Charles’ own account, and then continued narrating the events after Charles had left.

“We all went into the dining room to start dinner without them, but it wasn’t long before Randall appeared and asked Moira to step out. The next thing I knew she had returned and told us that Mr Shaw was dead.” Raven was clearly trying to put a brave face on things at this point, but she couldn’t help the way her voice trembled on the last word. Defying Logan’s instructions, Charles stepped quickly over to her and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“I wanted to go and see Charles, but Moira wouldn’t let me. She took us all into the drawing room, and we stayed there until the police arrived.”

“Thank you, Miss Xavier,” said Logan. “You’ve been very helpful and clear. I’m sorry we had to put you through that.” He sounded sincere enough, and Raven smiled a little at him.

“It’s all right, Inspector, I know you had to ask your questions.” Then her eyes flashed. “But I tell you again – neither my brother nor Mr McCoy had anything to do with Mr Shaw’s death, I’m certain of that.”

Charles couldn’t help the slight chuckle that escaped him at the startled look on Logan and Milsom’s faces. Raven could be quite fierce when she chose.

“Yes, thank you,” said Logan again, recovering himself. “I think you can go now.”

Raven stood with alacrity, and Charles smiled at her, grateful for her defence, no matter how unnecessary it might be.

“We really need to speak to Miss Salvadore next,” Logan said. “Miss MacTaggert offered to fetch the girl downstairs. Could you see what’s become of them, Xavier?”

“Of course,” said Charles, just as Raven burst out again, “Oh, can’t it wait? She really was most dreadfully upset last night, and she’ll only become so again if you start interrogating her.”

“It _can’t_ wait,” replied Logan. “Apart from Emma Shaw, she is the person most likely to be able to shed light on this nasty business. We must speak to her now.” Logan glanced at Charles. “Your brother will be present at her interview too, don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll protect her if we start getting too rough.”

“Come on, my dear,” Charles said to Raven. “I’ll do my best to protect her, you know I will.”

“I do know that, Charles. It’s just…she was _so_ upset.”

Making comforting noises, Charles led Raven out of the library, where they were immediately accosted by Henry.

“Rav…Miss Xavier! Are you quite all right? If I find those policemen have upset you in any way…”

His fierceness was even more unusual than Raven’s – Henry was normally such a mild-mannered person. Charles hid a smile that might be construed as mocking as Raven visibly pulled herself together, her own smile bright, if a little tremulous.

“I am well, Mr McCoy. Inspector Logan was perfectly polite, and besides, Charles would have had something to say about it if he hadn’t been!”

Henry appeared to notice Charles’ presence for the first time. “Oh, yes, of course he would.”

“But I count myself lucky to have two such staunch protectors.”

The pink that stained Henry’s cheeks made Charles hide another smile, but the man’s next words suddenly made him feel like an intruder.

“You may always rely on me to protect you, Miss Xavier.”

Raven blushed prettily in return, and they gazed silently at each other for a moment before she said, “Perhaps you could join me for tea in the drawing room before the inspector subjects you to your own questioning? I’m sure Charles would recommend the beverage’s restorative properties.”

“Indeed I would,” said Charles. “And I would be most grateful if you would look after my sister for a little while, Henry. I’m afraid I must accompany Miss Salvadore to her own interview, if Moira manages to persuade her downstairs. And even if she doesn’t, I fear the inspector will simply go up to her to ask his questions.”

“Surely he would not be so intrusive?” Henry asked.

“He is trying to gather as much information as he can,” said Charles simply. “I can understand that, even if it has the unfortunate consequence of upsetting people.”

“Well, he will not have to go upstairs, at any rate,” said Raven. “Here is Miss Salvadore now.”

Charles turned, and saw Moira and Angel Salvadore making their way towards them. Miss Salvadore appeared almost shrunken in on herself, and it was readily apparent that Moira was supporting the girl.

“How are you, my dear?” he asked Miss Salvadore, when the pair reached them.

But Miss Salvadore merely sniffed quietly, and made no further answer.

“The poor girl is very distressed,” Moira replied for her. “I hope this will not take long, Charles.” Sparks flashed in her eyes, and Charles thought to himself that Logan might find himself beset by another fierce woman if he wasn’t careful.

“I will make sure it doesn’t,” Charles promised. Then he smiled down at Miss Salvadore. “Don’t worry,” he continued. “Inspector Logan just has a few questions. Nothing too arduous, I’m sure.”

Miss Salvadore nodded minutely, and Charles made sure to keep the smile on his face as he opened the library door and ushered her and Moira inside.

“Here is Miss Salvadore, Inspector,” he said, as Moira led the girl to the same chair Raven had sat in, and encouraged her into it.

Logan nodded, and then said, “Good morning, Miss,” in a voice that was much gentler than any Charles had heard from him so far.

“Good morning,” Miss Salvadore whispered back.

Moira was still hovering by Miss Salvadore’s chair. “May I stay?” she asked, her protective instincts clearly roused as much as Charles’ were.

Milsom tutted loudly, but Logan only said, “I’m afraid not. Lord Xavier will be here, and I’m already incurring the wrath of my sergeant by allowing even that.”

“I’ll look after her, Moira, I promise,” said Charles.

Moira didn’t look particularly happy, but she acquiesced to the situation and made her way to the door. “I shall be waiting right outside, though,” she said. “If I am needed.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

There was a soft click as Moira shut the door behind her, and everyone was quiet for a moment. Charles looked at Angel Salvadore, and realised she was trembling. He almost went to her as he had done with Raven, but the realisation that the girl might not want comfort from an almost total stranger stopped him.

“Now, Miss Salvadore,” said Logan, his voice still gentle. “Just a few questions so we can establish some facts. You went upstairs with the other ladies when the dressing gong went, I understand?”

Miss Salvadore’s account of her movements after she’d gone upstairs did indeed seem to tally firstly with Raven’s, and then with Erik’s previous description of how she and Emma Shaw shared their maid. Angel had been content to wait in her room while Mrs Shaw got dressed first, although she did indicate, in the small, timid voice she answered all of Logan’s questions in, that she hadn’t in fact waited for the maid to begin changing.

“That seems unusual,” Logan observed, in a tone that indicated he at least understood how complicated dressing a lady could be, even if he didn’t appreciate all the finer details.

“I dressed myself all the time before I…became Mr Shaw’s ward,” Miss Salvadore replied, her voice growing stronger for a moment. “I didn’t have a maid when I still lived with my family.”

She continued, and explained in brief sentences that she was mostly dressed by the time Smith had appeared, and therefore the only things left for the maid to do were finish fastening Miss Salvadore’s dress, and arrange her hair.

“You must have been ready early then,” Logan said. “It seems a few people were,” he added, glancing quickly at Charles. “What did you do after that?”

“I waited in my room until I heard other guests start going downstairs,” Miss Salvadore replied.

“You didn’t think to go downstairs as soon as you were dressed?”

“I didn’t want to wander around and make a nuisance of myself.”

“And in the time you were waiting, you didn’t hear any noises from Mr and Mrs Shaw’s room?” Logan asked. “Your room is right next door, isn’t it?”

Angel Salvadore looked frightened again. “No,” she said quickly. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“The walls of this old place are very thick, Inspector,” Charles said. “It is entirely possible not to hear people speaking in the room right next door.”

“But we are not just talking about people speaking,” Logan reminded him. “There would have been a scuffle, and maybe raised voices.” He turned his attention back to Miss Salvadore. “Are you sure you heard nothing?”

“Nothing.” Miss Salvadore’s voice wobbled.

“All right. And you say that when you heard other guests starting to emerge, you did the same?”

“Yes, I went downstairs when Miss MacTaggert and two of the gentlemen did.”

“And you were in the drawing room until the dinner gong rang?”

“Yes, she was,” Charles confirmed, when Miss Salvadore failed to respond, apparently finally overcome by nerves and Logan’s questions. “Everyone was, after they came downstairs. Now, Inspector, surely that will do? The young lady can’t add anything more now that you haven’t already heard from myself and several others. And you can see she is very upset.”

“Yes, that will do for the moment, I suppose,” Logan said, a trace of impatience making its way into his voice. But he did allow Charles to cross to the door and open it, beckoning Moira back inside.

“Are you all right?” Moira asked Miss Salvadore, and received a tiny nod in return. “Are you finished with her now, Inspector?” she asked next.

“For now.”

“In that case, I will take her upstairs for a rest,” said Moira. “Come with me, dear.”

Miss Salvadore allowed herself to be coaxed from the chair and across the room. Charles followed, while Logan and Milsom put their heads together, conversing in low voices.

“You need some more sleep,” Moira was saying to Miss Salvadore as they all exited the library. “And then a square meal. You ate very little breakfast, I couldn’t help noticing.”

“I’m not sure I can sleep,” Miss Salvadore said quietly. “Every time I close my eyes, I see…” She broke off with a gasp, which quickly dissolved in sobs.

“Try not to think about it,” Moira said soothingly. “There’s no need for you to be imagining such horrible things.”

“Excuse me, Lord Xavier?” said a diffident voice, and Charles suddenly realised that Janos Quested was waiting a short distance away, watching them closely. “Perhaps you might allow me to take care of Miss Salvadore? A familiar face might be more comforting to her. Not that Miss MacTaggert isn’t doing an admirable job, of course.”

Quested stepped over to Moira and Miss Salvadore, and had taken the latter’s hand before Charles could even think of a response. Charles frowned as he wondered why was Quested still at liberty. He knew that Logan had succeeded in speaking to the valet earlier, and he’d thought that, with Quested’s current status as Logan’s chief suspect, the man might already have been carted off to the police station.

“We had no reason to arrest him.” Logan spoke quietly at Charles’ shoulder. “He said that after he’d seen you and Mr Lehnsherr, he returned downstairs and didn’t come back up. Milsom’s checked, and at least three of your servants saw him in the servant’s hall at different times up until you discovered Mr Shaw’s death. Mr Quested would appear to be in the clear.”

“Oh,” said Charles. “And that puts you back a square one, I suppose?”

“It does,” replied Logan, sounding resigned.

“I must admit, I didn’t think it could have been Quested.”

“So you said. And you were right, it seems.”

They both watched as Janos Quested firmly drew Miss Salvadore away from Moira, and put a comforting arm around her shoulders in preparation for leading her back upstairs. He murmured something to her, his voice too low for Charles to make out the words, and Miss Salvadore’s sobs quieted to sniffs as she leaned into his embrace. She seemed very grateful for Quested’s presence, which was obviously soothing her, but Moira nonetheless looked over her shoulder and raised a questioning eyebrow at Charles.

Charles shrugged, but then said, “Perhaps you might accompany them upstairs anyway, Moira? Just in case Miss Salvadore needs anything Mr Quested doesn’t know the whereabouts of.”

Moira was nodding when Logan said, “Actually, Miss MacTaggert, as you’re here now, perhaps we could ask you a few questions.”

“Oh, but…” Moira’s eyes darted from Charles to Logan to Quested and Miss Salvadore.

“It won’t take long, and then you may attend to Miss Salvadore if necessary.”

“Very well, Inspector, if you insist.”

“Would you like me to stay?” Charles asked her. “I’d be more than happy to.”

Moira smiled. “No, thank you, Charles. I shall be quite all right. I’m more than a match for the inspector, I’m sure.”

“I’m certain of it,” Charles told her. He chuckled slightly, and then glanced at Logan, who was keeping his face determinedly expressionless. “I shall leave you to it, then,” he said. “And don’t worry about Miss Salvadore – I’ll ask Raven to look in on her in a little while, just to check she’s all right.”

“Thank you.”

Moira followed Logan into the library, and Charles was left alone as the door was shut firmly in his face.


	9. Chapter 9

Inspector Logan’s questioning of everyone in the house continued on through the morning. He was methodical and as brief as he could be, but the disruption caused to the day’s routine was unavoidable, much to the wrath of Mrs Daly, when she was informed that a formal lunch would not be needed, and a buffet of cold cuts and finger foods would more than suffice (Charles had absented himself from that entire conversation, fearing the annoyance of Moira and Raven, who had been left with the job, much less than the enmity of his cook).

After Moira, Logan went on to speak to Henry, Armando, Alex and Sean, as well as Randall and a few of the servants in more detail. As his services as a chaperone were no longer required, Charles found himself at something of a loose end. There were still guests to be entertained, of course, but both Emma Shaw and Miss Salvadore seemed to have retired permanently to their rooms, and he knew he could rely on everyone else to amuse themselves if they needed to.

He drifted through the house, restless and, he could admit to himself, a little worried. Erik still hadn’t put in an appearance, and it was almost inevitable that in a very short space of time Charles had made his way to Erik’s room.

His soft knock brought no response, and after a furtive look each way along the corridor (Constables Perkins and Bosworth had finished their searches, and the door to the Shaw’s room was now locked and therefore no longer requiring a guard, but one couldn’t be too careful) Charles turned the knob and slipped inside.

The room was empty – not that Charles had really expected anything else. But the bed had obviously been slept in, and Charles found himself standing next to it, hand resting on rumpled sheets, long since gone cold but at least tangible proof that Erik hadn’t stolen away like a thief in the night.

Even if he did appear to have made himself scarce since the sun had risen.

Casual queries to Randall, Moira and Raven shed no light on Erik’s location, and while the butler’s face showed no emotion, as always, both Moira and Raven’s expressions demonstrated their concern, both for Erik’s whereabouts, and for Charles himself.

“Not to worry,” he said lightly to Raven. “I’m sure he’ll turn up. It’s not surprising that he wants to be alone, really. He’s had quite a time of it, this last day or so.”

Raven nodded encouragingly, and Charles tried not to see how unconvinced she was.

Then he took himself off to pace the house again, hoping always to happen across a long-legged brooding figure holed up in some forgotten nook, and worrying what precisely he would do if his search was finally successful.

“Xavier, there you are. A word, please.”

Charles perambulations had brought him back to the main hall once more, and he realised that Logan was waiting there for him. He nodded, and followed the inspector back to the library. Sergeant Milsom was absent, and therefore it was just the two of them sequestered together. Charles discovered he was allowed to sit behind his own desk again, while Logan positioned himself by one of the windows and stared out at the grounds.

There were a few moments of silence, in which Charles wondered whether Logan was about to reveal that he’d noticed Erik’s very conspicuous absence, and call Charles to account for it. He steeled himself.

But all that happened was that Logan eventually sighed, and said, “Well, that’s that, then.”

“That’s what, Inspector?” Charles asked tentatively.

Logan sighed again, and turned away from his contemplation of the view. “We’ve spoken to every single person under this roof, searched more rooms than by rights should belong to _five_ houses, and we’re still no closer to knowing who’s done this, that’s what.”

“Oh. Haven’t you learned anything?”

“What I’ve learned,” said Logan, a little testily, “is that the only people who seem to have any kind of alibi for the time of the murder are the ones who it seems are the most likely culprits – Erik Lehnsherr and Janos Quested. Oh, and yourself, of course.”

“So you class me as a likely culprit, do you?” Charles enquired, anxious not to let Logan’s thoughts dwell on Erik.

“You know very well that I don’t,” Logan growled.

“I’m glad to hear it. But surely other people must have alibis. Their maids and valets, and the like.”

“If there’s one _other_ thing I’ve learned – albeit not necessarily during the course of this investigation – it’s that maids and valets are more than happy to lie for their masters and mistresses. They know what side their bread’s buttered.”

“Really, Inspector…”

“But if I were to assume that everyone’s servant was lying for them, then I would have a _lot_ of suspects – and most of them quite obviously innocent, even those who _were_ alone for the whole of the relevant period.”

“So you have no suspects at all now?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Logan replied. “Although possibly I have _ideas_ rather than suspects.” He frowned. “Take the grieving widow, for example,” he continued. “Does she strike you as particularly…upset by this turn of events?”

“Everyone deals with grief in different ways,” Charles said delicately.

“Spare me the polite platitudes, Xavier,” Logan snapped. “No one’s going to find out if you say something a little unfriendly about one of your guests.”

Charles opened his mouth to protest, and then shut it again. There had been a murder, after all – perhaps this wasn’t the time for manners. “Perhaps she was not as prostrated by grief as one might have expected,” he admitted.

“Exactly,” said Logan dryly. “If you ask me, she seemed positively _un_ -prostrated.”

“So you think Emma Shaw might have had something to do with it?” Charles asked.

“I think she might have had something to do with _something_ ,” Logan said. “Whether that’s murdering her husband…well, her alibi is about as useless as everyone else’s, and I have no other evidence. Except for the murder weapon, I suppose. Apparently the scissors were brought in by her maid to make some rapid alterations to her dress for that evening. But that doesn’t mean that Mrs Shaw wielded them. Anyone could have picked them up from the dressing table. And according to her, her husband was alive and well when she left the room after dressing, and she didn’t see him again after that.”

“No one seems to have seen Shaw between the time Quested left him and the time his body was found,” Charles observed. “But someone must have done.” Then he flinched as he realised that might have inadvertently reminded Logan about Erik.

But all Logan said, rather witheringly, was, “Of _course_ someone must have done. Sebastian Shaw didn’t murder himself, after all.”

“So what will you do now?”

“Now,” said Logan, “I will begin again, and hope something comes to light that we missed the first time.”

“Again? But you cannot want to question everyone a second time today?”

“Not today, no,” replied Logan. “It might help to let everyone stew for a bit, in any case. Criminals have been known to crack under such conditions.”

“And in the meantime we must all share this house with a murderer, I suppose?” Charles said unhappily.

“What else do you want me to do? If you have the means to telepathically divine the guilty party, please, go ahead.” There was a pause, and then Logan barked out a laugh. “I didn’t think so. Don’t worry, the culprit is unlikely to try anything else, not now they know we’re on the lookout for them. And besides, who knows? It may not have even been someone _in_ the house. Plenty of murders are committed by opportunistic burglars who are surprised in the act.”

“But that can’t have been the case here,” Charles objected. “No burglar could have got into Sebastian Shaw’s room without being seen.”

“Are you sure about that?” Logan said, although his tone indicated that he didn’t think it was at all likely either. “People can be very ingenious. Watching a target, planning everything down to the finest detail.” The inspector smiled, bitter and maybe a shade desperate. “I don’t suppose you’ve noticed any suspicious strangers hanging around lately, have you?”

Charles blinked, memory suddenly assailing him. “Oh,” he said. “Now that you mention it…”

Logan’s attention sharpened dramatically. “What?”

“I’d forgotten about it, in all the excitement. There was someone, yesterday. A man.”

“And you didn’t think this was important information?”

“I told you, I forgot. It was in the morning, long before Shaw’s…death. Although I’m surprised Moira and Randall didn’t mention it either.”

“They knew about this man too?”

“Yes. But please don’t think they were deliberately hiding it,” Charles said hastily. “The whole incident was so brief. And, well, we did then have a murder to think about.” _Among other things_ , he added to himself.

Logan glared at him. “I think you’d better tell me about this man,” he said.

“Well, he was Russian. And he was insisting on seeing Sebastian Shaw. He said he had some important information for him.”

“Did he have a name, this Russian?”

“He wouldn’t give it.”

“Of course he wouldn’t. And did he see Mr Shaw?”

“He didn’t. Shaw was out shooting at the time, and the man was being rather offensive, so I refused him entry to the house and told Shaw about him afterwards.”

“And he never came back.”

“No. And Shaw didn’t seem particularly bothered about seeing him, either.”

“Do you think Shaw knew this man?”

“I think he might have done. It seemed like he recognised who I was talking about, when I described the Russian to him.”

“Hmmmm, very interesting. Although of course, with no name we have no way of tracking him down.” Logan’s tone was flavoured heavily with sarcasm, which made Charles feel a little sheepish as he uttered his next words.

“He did say he would be staying at a local inn – we thought probably the one on the Burford Road. It’s only a mile or two from here…”

It was almost as if the inspector was about to explode, his face turned so red. But before he could start shouting (which he was undoubtedly about to do), there was a knock on the door, and Randall came in.

“Please excuse me, my lord,” the butler said. “But there is someone here to see you, and under the circumstances, I thought it best to let him come in this time.”

He stepped aside, and to Charles’ surprise, none other than the Russian stranger walked into the room. The man made a beeline for Charles’ desk and slammed his hands down on it, leaning forward so that Charles was treated to a close examination of his sharply-featured face.

“You must let me see Sebastian Shaw,” the stranger insisted, once again dispensing with any niceties. “You cannot keep me away from him forever.”

Charles flickered the briefest of glances towards Logan, and received a brief nod in return.

“I’m afraid you cannot see Mr Shaw,” he said mildly.

“Do not deny me again. I _must_ see him.”

“You cannot see him,” Charles repeated, “because he is dead.”

“Dead?” The stranger looked taken aback for a moment, but his surprise was quickly subsumed by an ugly, sly look that spread across his face. “In that case, I must see Mrs Shaw instead.”

“I don’t think that will be possible.”

“She will see me,” the Russian pronounced. “Especially now her husband is dead.”

“And why is that?” Logan spoke up suddenly as he stepped away from his position by the window and approached the desk rapidly. The stranger jumped as he abruptly became aware of Logan’s presence.

“Who are you?” he asked rudely.

“Inspector James Logan of the police,” Logan replied. “And you are?”

“A police inspector?” said the stranger. “You need a police inspector for the death of Shaw? It is suspicious?”

“It is suspicious, yes,” said Logan. “As is your desire not to give your name.”

The stranger’s lip curled. “My name is Azazel,” he muttered.

“Well, Mr Azazel, I think I’d like to ask you a few questions. Starting with, what is the nature of this important information you are so desperate to speak to Mr and Mrs Shaw about?”

Azazel seemed to have finally realised the situation he was in. There was the briefest of hesitations, and then he said, “We see each other, Mrs Shaw and myself.”

“See each other? You mean you were having an affair?”

“Exactly.” Azazel didn’t seem the slightest bit ashamed of admitting this.

“And you were going to tell Shaw about this?” Charles asked, ignoring Logan’s annoyed look at his interruption. “Why?”

“A respectable man, he does not want people to know his wife is sleeping with someone else, I think,” Azazel replied.

“Oh, so you were going to blackmail him. Threaten to make him a laughing stock unless he paid up, that kind of thing?”

“Yes, thank you, Xavier, I think we’ve all worked that out,” Logan said, taking back the reins rather forcibly. “Unfortunately for you, Sebastian Shaw is dead.”

“No matter,” said Azazel. “There is always my beloved Emma.”

“Emma? Oh, I see. You’d blackmail her instead now. She’ll want to avoid the scandal of being known to be involved with someone like you, of course. How very romantic of you.”

Azazel smiled unpleasantly, and did not deny it.

“I think, Mr Azazel,” continued Logan, “that we may want to ask you a few more questions down at the station.”

For the first time the Russian looked alarmed. “But I have done nothing wrong.”

“You’ve just admitted you were planning to blackmail two respected members of the community.”

“But I have not done it. You cannot arrest me for something I have not done.”

“No, I suppose not. However, you clearly weren’t a friend to Sebastian Shaw, and your presence here at this time is…unfortunate.”

“You think I killed him? I did not!”

“I think we’ll ascertain that at the station. If you could wait here, please.”

Logan crossed to the door, opened it, and called for Milsom. The speediness of the sergeant’s appearance made Charles think that he had been waiting outside precisely for this moment.

“Please take Mr Azazel out to the carriage, and keep and eye on him there, Sergeant,” said Logan. “We’ll be taking him down to the station shortly for questioning.”

“Yes, Inspector.” Milsom advanced on Azazel, who was looking decidedly shifty, his eyes darting from side to side in an obvious quest for an escape route. “Come with me, please, sir. And I should warn you that there are two constables out in the hall who will be only too glad to be given something to do, such as chasing a fleeing suspect, so I’d advise you to come quietly.”

Azazel sneered at all of them, but nonetheless allowed Milsom to take his arm and lead him out.

Logan looked over at Charles. “A nasty piece of work,” he observed.

Charles nodded. “But do you really think he’s involved in Shaw’s death?” he asked. “He seemed surprised when we told him about it.”

“Could be a front,” replied Logan. “Trying to divert suspicion from himself.”

“But why come back at all if he was guilty?”

Logan glared at him. “You seem determined to believe the best of all of my suspects, Xavier.”

“Oh, believe me, I do not in any way think the best of Mr Azazel,” Charles told him. “Only, it doesn’t really make sense.”

“We shall see,” Logan said. “In any case, I think I need to speak to Emma Shaw again.”

*~*~*~*~*

“I thought we had finished with all this, Inspector.” Emma Shaw seated herself and arranged her skirts tidily. Her words indicated that she was annoyed at being summoned again, but her tone and expression betrayed virtually nothing. She was the very picture of blank ease, and Charles frowned slightly, reminded again of both Raven and Logan’s assessments of her lack of grief.

But he kept quiet, worried that if Logan remembered his presence, he would be asked to leave. Emma Shaw, for her part, had merely glanced at him as she’d entered the room, and then obviously resigned herself to an audience.

“I thought so too, Mrs Shaw,” Logan replied. “But one or two new things have come to light, which I’d like to ask you about.”

“Very well.”

“To begin with, were you aware that we’ve had a visitor this afternoon?”

“I was not aware, no,” Emma Shaw said. She showed no signs of curiosity about whom the visitor might be.

“In that case, I wonder, does the name Azazel mean anything to you?”

Only someone watching very closely, as Charles was, would have detected the minute start of surprise. There was a pregnant pause, and then Emma Shaw sighed heavily, as un-ladylike a sound as Charles had ever heard her make.

“I suppose I must assume you know everything already,” she said, “otherwise I would not have been summoned again. The man is my lover.”

“So he has informed us,” Logan confirmed. “ _Did_ you know he was here?”

“I did not. I thought he was in London.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Emma Shaw gave Logan a withering look, and didn’t answer.

But Charles had realised something. “You were writing letters to him there yesterday, weren’t you?” he said. “That’s what you were doing all day.”

“I was.”

“Hmmm…” Logan seemed to be Charles’ interruptions in his stride at this point. “How long have you been seeing this Azazel?” he asked Mrs Shaw.

“About a year, I suppose. Although I don’t see that it’s any of your business, Inspector.”

“In a murder investigation, everything is my business.”

“Of course it is.”

“How did you meet? He doesn’t seem like the sort of character a lady such as yourself would come across in the ordinary run of things.”

“If you must know, we met at a party given by a friend of mine. How she knew him, I’m still not quite sure. I rather suspect he may have been there uninvited. I thought him quite vulgar and uncouth at first. I suppose I still do, really. However, he _did_ seem sincerely interested in me. He made life a little more…fun.”

It was more words than Charles had ever heard Emma Shaw speak at once before, and more emotion than he had ever seen her display, as well. The lady seemed to realise quickly enough that she had become carried away, however, and the mask of cool indifference was back in place before Logan could ask his next question. But still, it was clear that somewhere under that polished, frosty exterior, a heart did actually beat.

“Did your husband know about the affair?” Logan said.

There was another pause, and then, “Yes,” Emma Shaw admitted. “Although he only found out about it recently.”

“And what was his reaction?”

“He was not pleased, as you might imagine. In fact, he threatened to make life very difficult for me if I didn’t end it.”

“He would have divorced you?”

“The word was never uttered, but possibly. Although Sebastian may not have wanted the scandal. And there are plenty of ways for a husband to keep a tight rein on his wife. Financially, for one. It is hard to carry on illicit affairs when one doesn’t have the means. Azazel is not well off.”

“And how did Shaw find out?”

“I believe we were spotted by one of his acquaintances, who told Sebastian to curry favour, no doubt.”

“And _were_ you going to end it?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Really? Are you certain?”

“Of course. What are you implying, Inspector?” Emma Shaw’s calm façade cracked once more, betraying that she already knew what Logan meant.

The inspector spelled it out anyway. “I am implying that, in order to carry on your affair _and_ keep yourself in the manner to which you had become accustomed, you hatched a plot to get your husband out of the way. I assume his will leaves you a substantial amount, if not his whole fortune? Perhaps you even got Azazel to help – I can’t really imagine you carrying out a violent and bloody murder yourself. Perhaps you let your lover into the house to do your dirty work for you. Perhaps…”

“This is ridiculous, Inspector,” Emma Shaw interrupted hotly. “Azazel didn’t even know I was planning to end it. That is what my letters were about yesterday. I was trying to find an appropriate way of letting him down. Why would I have been writing to him if I didn’t think he was still in London?”

“To make your story more plausible?”

“What story? I have no story! I _didn’t_ know he was here today.”

“And I assume you also didn’t know that he was planning to blackmail you, either?” Logan said sceptically. “That is, if that tale wasn’t just a cover to explain his presence in the locality.”

“Blackmail me?” Emma Shaw’s skin turned even paler than normal.

“Subject you to scandal and ruin unless you paid him to keep his mouth shut about the affair,” Logan elaborated. “His first plan, or so he claims, was to try the same idea on your husband, but of course, that’s not a possibility any more.”

“Where is Azazel now?” Emma Shaw asked.

“Outside, with some of my men,” Logan replied. “And I think you’ll be joining him in just a moment, Mrs Shaw. The pair of you are very interesting – _very_ interesting indeed.”

“I am not going anywhere with you, Inspector. The whole idea that I had anything to do with the murder of my husband is preposterous. You have no evidence, only idle speculation.”

“I have grounds to question you further,” Logan returned. “And if you won’t come willingly, I’ll have my constables bring you forcibly. Do you want that?”

Emma Shaw seemed about to argue some more, but then after a moment, she subsided. “No,” she said, a trifle sulkily.

“Thank you. Now, if you will accompany me outside, perhaps we can leave Lord Xavier and the rest of his guests in peace for a while.”

*~*~*~*~*

Logan tried to have Emma Shaw escorted from the house as discreetly as possible – which meant, of course, that everyone found out about it instantly. Charles returned from seeing them off (if watching a respectable lady placed in a police vehicle and driven away could be said be seeing someone off) to find that everyone had congregated in the hall, curious and questioning. The only people missing were Miss Salvadore, and of course, Erik.

He explained as briefly as he could about Emma Shaw and Azazel, and Logan’s new suspicions, but the story was still a sensation nonetheless, and it was obvious that everyone would be discussing it for the rest of the day.

“So that man was Mrs Shaw’s lover,” Moira said quietly, while everyone else buzzed with the gossip. “I must admit, I can’t understand what she would see in him.”

“Nor I,” Charles admitted. “But then, I suppose other peoples’ desires are not for us to understand.”

“And does Logan really think they are guilty of Mr Shaw’s murder?”

“Well, it doesn’t look too good for them,” Charles said, after a moment. “Even if all the details don’t quite fit together yet.”

“Maybe we’ll never know who did it.”

“Maybe,” replied Charles absently. Then he realised that his attention had wandered momentarily, and shook himself a little. “Would you mind terribly looking after everyone for the rest of the afternoon?” he asked Moira. “I find myself desperately in need on some peace and quiet. I’m rather exhausted.”

“Of course,” said Moira kindly. “You’ve had quite a day of it, after all. Why don’t you get some rest, and don’t worry about a thing until dinner.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Charles kissed her cheek, and then watched as she shepherded everyone back towards the drawing room with promises of tea and cake.

However, once he was alone, he felt a little bit at a loss. His first thought was to follow Moira’s advice and go up to his room. Then he realised that, despite his tiredness, he wouldn’t be able to sleep – his restlessness of earlier had returned, making him feel jittery and uncomfortable.

His next idea was to go back to the library, to read or perhaps tidy his desk – some kind of activity that would not require too much brainpower, at any rate. But he was reluctant to return to the place that had been the setting of a lot of unpleasantness during the day. He felt like he needed a change of scene, but he wasn’t quite sure what kind of scene he wanted.

So he took to wandering through the house again, looking for somewhere he could settle himself and let his guard down for a short while. But he couldn’t find such a place, or anything else he told himself he wasn’t looking for – not until he glanced out of the breakfast room window and beheld a tall, solitary figure standing at the edge of the shrubbery, gazing up at the house.

*~*~*~*~*

Charles shivered, and was glad he had thought to pick up his scarf and gloves as he’d slipped out of the house. The day before the weather had been crisp but still congenial, pleasant to be outside in. In the intervening time, however, the air had developed more of a bite to it, as if autumn had descended all at once to banish summer completely. It was the kind of day to be inside, looking out, congratulating oneself on a snug sitting room and roaring fire while the elements carried on regardless.

Erik did not have either a scarf or gloves, and the pale, pinched cast to his features showed that he was suffering from their lack. Charles was unsure if his approach had been noted, but Erik didn’t startle when Charles said his name softly, and merely inclined his head in acknowledgement of Charles’ presence, although he didn’t look at him.

There was a moment of tense silence, and then Charles asked, “How long have you been out here?”

“Why, did you think I had run off?” Erik replied flatly. “Did you suddenly find that your faith in my innocence was not as strong as you’d thought?”

“No,” Charles protested. “I was concerned, yes, but not about that. I was…worried for you,” he finished awkwardly.

But something in his words appeared to have struck a chord. “I am sorry,” Erik said, his voice a good deal friendlier as he finally turned to Charles, his eyes searching Charles’ face. “You are my strongest supporter, and I can only repay you with accusations.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Charles told him. “I’m glad to see you, that’s all.” Then he asked again, “But have you been out here all day?”

“Most of it,” Erik replied. “I found myself in need of some space, to think things through. I hope I have not caused you any trouble,” he added, frowning.

“Not at all,” said Charles. “There are plenty more fish in the sea, as the saying goes, and Inspector Logan seems to have found himself some of them.” _And I am the one who has caused the trouble_ , he thought but did not say.

“Janos Quested, I suppose? The inspector seemed very interested in him last night.”

“No, actually.” Charles hesitated, and then told him, “As a matter of fact, he has turned his attention to your aunt and…well, you remember that Russian gentleman who paid a visit yesterday?”

“Hardly a gentleman,” Erik observed.

“Quite. At any rate, it turns out that the man was your aunt’s…lover.”

“Her lover?” Erik raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Yes. Logan believes they might have planned Shaw’s murder together.”

“I can see I’ve missed quite a lot today,” Erik said wryly.

“Some excitement, yes. Perhaps I could tell you more about it if you were to come inside into the warm,” Charles tried. “You must be frozen.”

“It hardly matters,” said Erik dismissively, but Charles could see the way his hands were curled in on themselves, in an attempt to protect his fingers from the cold. He wanted to take those hands in his and warm them, but he feared that such a gesture would not be welcome. Erik had made no allusions to what had occurred between them early that morning, and he did not seem to be holding a grudge, but Charles was reluctant to sow any more seeds of disharmony between them, no matter how much he wished for some kind of resolution to things currently unspoken.

“But I will come inside,” Erik continued. “I have done a lot of thinking today, and I believe my course is finally fixed.”

That sounded ominous to Charles’ ears, but he merely nodded, and then gestured towards the house. “Shall we, then?”

Erik nodded, and they set off back to the house. However, although they walked side by side, their arms and shoulders occasionally brushing, to Charles, Erik had never seemed further away.


	10. Chapter 10

“Wait.”

Charles paused mid-step and looked back at Erik, who was standing somewhat uncertainly in the middle of the hall.

“What is it, my friend?”

“Not the…” Erik took a breath and visibly collected his thoughts. “Perhaps we might go somewhere more private?”

Charles, who had been making a beeline for the library, suddenly understood. The house was large, but there were still a lot of people in it, all of who would certainly ask questions of, and demand explanations from, Erik, if they were to come across him. And there was no guarantee they wouldn’t be disturbed in the library. Or anywhere else downstairs, Charles realised.

“Maybe we should go…upstairs?” he suggested.

Erik looked at him for a moment, and then smiled slightly. “That would be welcome, thank you. I will have to face everyone at some point, I know, but I’d like to put it off a little longer.”

“Of course.” Charles nodded and led the way up the stairs, aware that his heart was suddenly beating rather faster than normal.

It wasn’t until they had crossed the landing and turned the corner that Charles realised what he had done, however. Quite unconsciously, he had headed in the direction of his own rooms, and not Erik’s.

Charles came to a confused halt in the middle of the corridor, and once more looked back at Erik. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think. Your room is the other way, of course.” He made to retrace his steps, but Erik put out a hand to stop him.

“You rooms would do just as well, wouldn’t they?” Erik asked. “That is, if you don’t mind? I would rather not return to mine, right now.”

He spoke calmly, but there was uncertainty in his expression, and Charles did his best not to betray the effect the simple request had on him, worried that Erik might perceive an expectation where none existed.

“Of course my rooms are at your disposal, if you wish,” he said tentatively.

Erik’s face cleared, and he smiled again. “Thank you,” he said. “No doubt you think my reticence is ridiculous, but…”

“I don’t think it is ridiculous at all,” Charles told him sincerely. “Come, let’s get you warmed up.”

“I am not so cold as all that,” Erik replied, sounding amused now at Charles’ solicitousness.

“You’re shivering,” Charles pointed out.

It was only the truth. The comparative warmth of the house’s interior had clearly made little dent on Erik’s chill as yet, and indeed, coming in so abruptly from the autumn chill seemed to have resulted in an all too visible trembling throughout Erik’s lean frame.

“Oh.” Erik seemed surprised. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Please come and get warm,” Charles all but begged. “You’ll become ill if you’re not careful.”

He didn’t wait for an answer this time, but instead turned and continued on, leading the way into his room with only the briefest of hesitations.

“Make yourself at home,” he said, as carelessly as he could, and then tried not to stare at Erik too closely as the other man looked around, taking in Charles’ space and clutter (although Charles was pleased to realise that there was not as much of that clutter scattered across the room as he had feared there might be – Harris and the maids had obviously been doing some tidying up, and for once it was welcomed).

“It is not the biggest of the family bedrooms,” he said, before Erik could comment. “But it has been mine since I was a boy, and I found when I became Lord Xavier that I did not want to move into the master suite, and leave my own little sanctuary.”

“I can understand that,” Erik said. “I can understand wanting to hold on to the memories of your childhood. And besides, this room suits you.”

“And, of course, it has the added and unusual luxury of an adjoining bathroom,” Charles continued, gesturing to a door in the corner.

Erik raised an eyebrow. “Luxury indeed.”

Charles flushed, feeling every inch the spoiled little rich boy. Then he decided, in for a penny, in for a pound, and said, “It comes complete with a large bathtub, and I believe hot water is the best way to chase away the cold.” Then he coughed, aware that the words sounded slightly ridiculous, and again, weighted with expectation.

However, Erik only chuckled, and replied. “Then perhaps I might take advantage of it, if you have no objections? Now you have drawn my attention to it, the cold feels as if it has seeped right into my bones.” He moved towards the bathroom door, but then stopped and threw a questioning look at Charles.

“Please, take as long as you need,” said Charles. “The plumbing may be a little temperamental, but if you give it a chance you’ll find you have a plentiful supply of hot water.”

Erik nodded. “Thank you,” he said, his voice gone peculiarly low suddenly, in a way that made butterflies start dancing in Charles’ stomach.

“And perhaps,” Charles continued quickly, to try and cover his confusion, “afterwards you would like some food? I don’t suppose you’ve eaten anything today, have you?” He tried to make the words sound stern and admonishing, if only in jest, but instead they came out worried and soft.

“No,” Erik replied, “I haven’t.”

“I’ll have a tray brought up then.” This time, Charles succeeded in sounding brisk and businesslike, but the butterflies had not gone away, and after Erik had disappeared into the bathroom, he put his face in his hands for a moment.

“You fool, Charles,” he muttered to himself. “Get a hold of yourself.”

He stood like that for a little while longer, and then, as he heard the plumbing groaning into life, squared his shoulders and crossed to the window, staring out into the overcast afternoon as he resolutely tried to push everything that was in his heart and head to one side.

He wasn’t quite sure how long he remained in that attitude, but eventually he remembered his promise of food, and, deciding not to ring down and risk anyone finding out about Erik’s presence, he instead slipped out and went downstairs himself, thoroughly startling all the staff in the servants hall with his appearance, and annoying Mrs Daly no end by asking for a tray of “whatever leftovers you have to hand, as I didn’t eat much at lunch, I’m afraid.”

“Would you like me to carry that up for you, my lord?” George asked.

“No, thank you, George, I’m sure I can manage. I don’t want to put anyone out.”

Mrs Daly’s loudly whispered “Doesn’t want to put anyone out, my foot,” followed him up the back stairs, and for a moment he smiled to himself, wondering if all members of the aristocracy were so completely in thrall to their servants.

Charles had just returned to his room, and was putting the laden tray down on top of the hastily cleared chest of drawers when he heard the bathroom door open behind him.

“I’m sorry it’s not much,” he said. “I think my cook is punishing me for not doing justice to her heroically prepared and altered luncheon.”

“Well, a starving man cannot be choosy about what he eats, after all,” Erik replied, amusement once more colouring his voice.

Charles laughed and turned around, and then everything he’d been about to say died on his lips as he beheld the sight in front of him.

Erik had donned his clothing again after his bath, but somewhat hastily and casually, it appeared. Several buttons below his collar remained undone, exposing his throat and collarbones. His shirt was untucked and hung loosely around his hips, and his had eschewed his shoes and socks, leaving his feet bare.

Charles coughed, and turned quickly back to the tray again, feeling once more a traitorous flush creeping across his face. “I am sorry, my friend,” he said. “I should have thought to fetch out some fresh clothing for you.”

“You would have taken it upon yourself to go and rummage through my drawers, then?” Erik asked, still sounding amused. Then, “I am sorry if my appearance offends you.”

Charles coughed again, and then said quietly, “It does not offend me.”

“Charles.” All trace of humour had abruptly vanished from Erik’s voice, and Charles heard him walk across the room, his bare feet padding softly on the carpet, until he knew Erik was right behind him.

“Would you prefer bread and cheese, or some of this rather sad-looking veal pie?” he said desperately.

“Charles,” Erik repeated insistently, “I think we must talk.”

Charles’ hands froze over the tray, and then he slowly lowered them to his sides and turned to face Erik. “Very well,” he said, and steeled himself for the worst.

But Erik’s next words were not at all how he had expected the conversation to continue.

“Neither of us had the opportunity to sleep much last night,” Erik said. He was looking at Charles narrowly. “And, if you were anything like me, I suspect even once you reached your bed, your sleep was not restful. Am I correct?”

Charles smiled thinly. “I did not see my bed at all last night, as a matter of fact,” he admitted.

“Ah.” Erik looked surprised, but only for a moment. “Then you must be tireder even than I am,” he said. “Perhaps we should sit down while we do this?”

“Of course.”

There were two chairs by the fire – an arrangement much like that in the library, where he and Erik had passed the time so pleasantly together on previous occasions – and Charles expected that Erik would choose them to sit in. Instead, to his very great shock, Erik covered the shorter distance to the bed, and perched himself upon the edge of it.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Erik asked, for all the world sounding as if inviting another man to share a bed – even if only for the most innocuous of reasons – was a normal and everyday occurrence.

“No,” said Charles numbly, and moved as if in a daze to join him.

“I did not sleep well last night,” Erik said again, when they were seated side-by-side, scant inches of space between them. “I found I had a lot to think on, which prevented me from finding much rest.”

“My friend, I am sorry, I did not mean to…”

Erik held up an implacable hand and Charles subsided reluctantly. He felt he needed to make amends, to ensure that Erik knew there were no expectations, and no recriminations. If anyone deserved recriminations, it was Charles, after all.

But Erik clearly wished to say his piece, and Charles had to let him say it – he owed the man that much, at least.

“At first I could not get Shaw out of my head,” Erik continued. “I thought I was still angry, that I had been denied my carefully wrought revenge. That he would never look me in the eye and know that it was I who had brought about his downfall. But when I tried to stoke the embers of my anger, I found I could not. It was not anger I felt, but emptiness. My uncle is gone, and I found I did not know what to do with myself.”

“Oh, but there is so _much_ you could do…”

Again, Erik held up a hand, halting Charles’ words.

“And then I realised – I wasn’t completely empty. Something else had taken root. Something that had already diverted me from my ideas of vengeance, although I did not know it at the time. Something that had persuaded me to think of other things, and see things in a different light.”

“What was it?” Charles dared the question when Erik hesitated for the briefest of moments.

“ _You_ , Charles. In only two days you have thrust yourself into my life and turned everything upside down with your friendship and ideas and judgements.”

Charles found himself struck dumb, caught in the beam of Erik’s searching gaze as the other man shifted and turned towards him.

“You thought my revenge unworthy of me,” Erik said. “And I begin to think you are right. It is _not_ the way to honour my parents’ memory. And I realised that you were also correct about the effect it would have on my aunt and Miss Salvadore. I don’t know either of them well, but I would not have wanted to see them degraded by my revenge, I know that now. _They_ did not deserve it, at any rate.”

“I am glad you have had a change of heart,” Charles said softly.

“You congratulate yourself on changing my mind for me, no doubt,” Erik said, with sudden and jarring harshness.

“No! I…I only wish to see you happy, that is all.”

Erik turned his face away abruptly, and after a moment said, “I am sorry. I did not mean to speak to you like that. It is just that I have been very accustomed to my solitude, and consulting only my own ideas and inclinations. It may take me a while to accept that the opinions of others might hold value, I fear. Even if they have already influenced me.”

“Please don’t ever think I would seek to influence you unduly, or attempt to force my opinions on you,” Charles said.

“I know you would not.” Erik paused. “I know you would not force anything on me,” he added, in a low voice.

Now it was Charles’ turn to look aside. “How can you say that?” he asked. “When you know very well that I forced an intimacy on you that you did not look for. I know that it cannot have only been thoughts of your uncle and your revenge that kept you awake last night.”

“You are correct,” said Erik. “It was unlooked for. But that does not mean it was unwelcome.”

For a single second, shock, disbelief and a tiny ray of hope warred for dominance in Charles’ breast. But then all were swept aside when Erik suddenly rose and walked away, retreating to the window as he continued, “But even if it was welcomed, it does not mean it can _be_.”

Charles sprang to his feet also, confused by Erik’s sudden pendulum swing, but galvanised by his words at the same time. “You do not think it is wrong?” he challenged.

Erik’s eyes pierced him again for a moment before the other man said, “Not in the way you think, no.” He smiled briefly. “Despite my isolation, I have not lived like a monk all these years. And not all my encounters were with women.”

“Then you are not ashamed?”

“Of course I am not! I could never be ashamed. Not of wanting this. Of wanting…you.”

Something thrilled in Charles at those words, and he asked, “So why can’t this be?”

“Because it is dangerous. For you.”

“For you as well.”

“It is not myself I’m concerned with.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have a lot less to lose than you!” Erik snapped.

Charles blinked.

“If this was discovered,” Erik continued, “you would be ruined. You would lose everything.”

“Do you think I haven’t thought of that?” Charles said slowly. “I have thought of it many, many times. I have thought of it every time I felt my feelings stir over the years, and on those occasions it was enough to hold me back.” He took a breath.” “And I had intended to let it hold me back this time as well. I do not want ruin, or scandal, or to bring shame on myself or my sister.”

“Then you understand why.”

“But I also do not want to remain alone for the rest of my life.”

“You need not remain alone,” Erik argued. “You could marry some nice girl and be happy.”

“I don’t want to marry some ‘nice girl’,” Charles retorted. “ _That_ would not make me – or her – happy.” He narrowed his eyes, suddenly suspicious. “Why are you trying so desperately to put a stop to this?” he said. “Perhaps you _are_ ashamed, and are trying to come up with other reasons so you don’t have to admit it.”

“No! _No_ ,” Erik protested. He seemed poised to take some action – Charles noticed that his fists were clenched and held firmly by his side, as if in a desperate effort to stop himself reaching out. “I may have mocked and sneered at your wealth and position, but I could not bear it if I were responsible for your ruin,” Erik whispered then. “You have opened my eyes to so many things, and I could not repay you like that.”

“ _You_ would not be responsible for my ruin,” Charles told him. “Only I can be responsible for that. Not that I intend to be ruined,” he continued. “You are not the only one who has had encounters. I know how to keep secrets.”

“But…your name, your sister…”

“I believe she would want me to be happy,” Charles said, pushing aside the pang that went through him at Raven’s fate if he ever was to be exposed. He spoke the truth – he _did_ sincerely believe she wanted to see him happy, and he believed that if she were here she would be telling him to follow his heart.

“And what of the Xavier name, this estate, your title?” Erik said. “You say that you do not want to marry, but you will need an heir, surely?”

“Raven is my heir already,” Charles said. “And after her, her children. It is unusual, I dare say, and no doubt some people will not approve. But I am rather used to being thought of as unusual, so I don’t let it worry me. And neither should you.”

“But I cannot let you…”

“I shouldn’t flatter yourself that it is all for you,” said Charles, as lightly as he could. “I made many of these decisions long before I met you. I may have previously held back from the path of true happiness, but that does not mean I was prepared to settle for what was expected of me. I have already told you that marriage was not on the cards for me.”

Erik said nothing, and only stared at him.

“But I have realised now that I want that happiness,” Charles continued quietly. “And my version of that may be wrong in the eyes of the law, but I do not believe that anybody has the right to tell me _how_ to be happy, or that I may not be happy in the way I wish.” He smiled. “And you may flatter yourself that that is one decision I _have_ made because of you.”

“Charles…” Erik sounded broken.

“Oh, my dear friend,” Charles whispered, closing the distance between them. “It is not only my happiness I want, but yours too.” He took one of Erik’s still clenched hands in his, and gently uncurled the fingers until his could lace his own through them. “Will this not make you happy?” he asked.

The memory of Erik’s lips against his had kept Charles awake the previous night, and had come back to him at odd moments during the day, when he hadn’t been preoccupied with police inspectors and murder suspects. But it had necessarily been a fleeting impression at best, and he had not been quite sure whether his memory was real, or only how he wanted to remember it.

It turned out to be neither. If he had embellished with his imagination, then his imagination was a paltry thing. One thing he knew – this was not how it had felt the first time.

Erik kissed like it was the _only_ thing that would make him happy, and Charles felt his question was well answered. When they broke apart, Charles found it necessary to rest his head against Erik’s shoulder and just breathe, clinging to Erik as if he was going to disappear at any moment.

“Charles?” There was laughter in Erik’s voice, but tenderness too, and it was as if Charles’ heart constricted and expanded at the same time upon hearing it.

“Will you come to bed with me?” he asked, before he even knew he was going to, and only realised once he had said it that his voice was muffled by Erik’s shoulder and therefore his bold question might not even have been heard.

But when he lifted his head, Erik kissed him again, slow and sweet, and then led him to the bed.

They sat on its edge again, twisted to face each other this time, and just _looked_ for a long moment. Then Charles lifted his hands and reached for one of the few buttons of Erik’s shirt that were still fastened.

“I’ve only just put these clothes back on, you know,” Erik said, voice still bubbling with mirth. “I may as well not have bothered.”

“Then I fear our previous conversation would not have been quite as long,” Charles answered, and was proud that the words emerged steady and strong.

He kept his attention firmly on the buttons as he undid them, and only when the last one gave way to his fingers did he raise his eyes again to Erik’s face. What he saw there made him half rise towards Erik, and Charles kissed him again as his hands slid under the now gaping collar and finally touched skin, warm where he knew it had previously been as chilled as marble.

Erik allowed the attentions for a moment, before he gently pushed Charles back, hands hovering before he returned the favour and divested Charles of his own shirt, and then did not stop, peeling him out of the rest of his clothing.

Suddenly self-conscious in his nudity as he had never been before, Charles blushed and cast his eyes downwards again, unable to meet Erik’s gaze.

But Erik only cupped Charles’ face in his hand, gently but inexorably raising his head until Charles was staring into Erik’s pale yet burning eyes. “You are perfect,” Erik whispered. “As are your blushes.” Then he bore Charles down to the mattress, and Charles sucked in a breath as he realised that, in his bashfulness, he had not noticed Erik removing the rest of his own clothes, and that now there were no barriers between them.

Erik’s hands and fingers were gentle as they touched him, outside and in, and his movements were slow and careful as he joined them. Charles’ gasps turned to moans as they rocked together, and then to mewls that Erik swallowed with more kisses.

He felt it when Erik spilled inside him, encouraging him with whispered invocations, and then gasped again when Erik took him in hand, inexorably drawing his own completion out of him until Erik’s name was the only word he could remember.

Afterwards they lay together, side-by-side once more, Charles holding one of Erik’s hands against his chest so that the other man could feel the thud of his heart.

“This makes me happy,” Erik murmured, and Charles’ grasp tightened momentarily. Then Erik shifted a little, turning on his side so he could look at Charles, although he did not remove his hand from Charles’ grasp. “I spoke the truth when I said I had not looked for this,” he said. “But I would not change it now for the world.”

“I did not look for it either,” Charles said. “Not even a glimmer of a suspicion of _this_ entered my mind when you arrived on my doorstep two days ago.” He lifted Erik’s hand and kissed his knuckles softly. “Although I cannot deny you were already an intriguing prospect.” He smiled.

“Oh? How so?”

“You, my friend, were a mystery. And not just to me – many people here found you interesting, for all they knew practically nothing about you.”

“I’m glad I could provide a point of interest to all your friends and neighbours,” Erik replied, smiling likewise.

“Oh, you were very much so,” Charles told him.

“And do you still find me an – how did you put it? – an ‘intriguing prospect’ now?”

“Maybe not quite so intriguing,” Charles said. “I have learned a lot this weekend, after all. But a prospect? Yes, I think you will always be that.”

“I am happy to hear it,” said Erik dryly.

Charles laughed, but in the midst of it the sound turned into a yawn. Then it was Erik who chuckled, instead, and his free hand came up to brush Charles’ hair from his forehead.

“You should rest,” he said. “You have had far too many worries keeping you awake these past nights.”

“I am not the only one,” Charles said. Then, “Will you stay?” he asked, unaccountably shy again despite their current state of undress and the memory of what they had just done. “Just for a short while?”

“I will stay,” Erik promised, and suited action to word by reaching out and pulling the bedclothes over them, to ward off any chill that might make itself felt, now the fire in their blood was cooled. Then he settled his head on the pillows next to Charles’, seemingly content to keep Charles in his sights until his eyes shut.

Charles yawned again, smiled, and let sleep claim him, Erik’s hand still clasped between his own.

*~*~*~*~*

For a moment, Charles wasn’t sure what time it was or what had woken him. They had left the lights on when they’d fallen asleep, but at that time Charles had been too tired to care, and he didn’t think it was that that had roused him. He squinted towards the windows, where the curtains were also still open, and realised the sky outside had darkened – although only to the deep purple of twilight rather than the velvet blackness of later hours.

Then he heard the noise, and realised it was the second sounding of the dressing gong, reverberating through the house precisely as it was meant to do, and loud enough to wake him.

Nearly dinner time, then. He had not intended to sleep so long, but he could not deny that he felt refreshed by it. He also marvelled that he had been _allowed_ to sleep undisturbed for such a length of time, without being called on to attend to his guests. He suspected Raven’s hand in it, and was grateful.

Another sound, closer at hand, drew his attention, and he turned his head to discover what he realised then he had already been subconsciously aware of, and what had seemed so natural and right to him that his mind had not thought to question it.

Erik was still here. He had turned away from Charles a little as he slept, but not enough to obscure Charles’ view of his face, which was peaceful in his slumber.

A bubble of joy welled up inside Charles, and for a moment all he could do was lay there and look his fill, unsure what to do with a feeling he now knew for certain he had never experienced before.

However, as if he was aware of Charles’ regard, even in sleep, Erik at that moment stirred, and his eyes opened. Charles could detect the momentary tension that gripped the other man as found himself in unfamiliar surroundings, and likewise the release of it as he remembered where he was, and with whom.

“What time is it?” Erik asked, even as his fingers under the blankets searched out and found the skin of Charles’ hip, their touch a greeting and a brand that distracted Charles for a moment.

“It is evening,” he answered, when he could speak. “The dressing gong woke me.”

“And I suppose we must obey its summons,” Erik said, a little resignedly

“We could ignore it.”

“I don’t think our solitude would remain undisturbed much longer if we did that,” Erik replied. His fingers briefly pressed more deeply into Charles’ flesh, and then they were removed as Erik rolled away and sat up, swinging his legs out of bed, and leaving Charles cold despite the bedclothes that still covered him.

Charles took a moment to appreciate the long line of Erik’s back, tapering to his waist and beyond, before he sighed and mimicked Erik’s actions, sliding out of bed himself and searching the room for a dressing gown to make himself, if not respectable, then at least decent.

Erik had already pulled his trousers back on before Charles had tied the dressing gown’s belt, and was shrugging into his shirt.

“I hope you will find something smarter to wear for dinner,” Charles observed, smiling.

“I will,” Erik replied. “Even if I seem destined to do nothing but put on and take off this same set of clothes today.” He smiled likewise. “Although I don’t think the next removal will be as pleasant as the last.”

Finishing with the last shirt button, he came to Charles. “Not _nearly_ as pleasant,” he murmured, and then leaned in a little.

Charles could happily have lost himself in that kiss forever, but instinct prompted him to regretfully draw away after a moment or two. “You should go now,” he said quietly. “My valet will be along soon, whether I ring for him or not, and…well…”

“It wouldn’t do for him to find me here,” Erik finished. “You are right, of course.” He kissed Charles once more, swiftly. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he said, and then he was gone.

*~*~*~*~*

If Harris noticed his master’s preoccupation while he was dressing him, he said nothing, only held out shirts and coattails just as usual, fastened cufflinks and straightened collars with the same attention to detail, and then collected up various bits of detritus before melting deferentially away.

When he had left, Charles went to the window again and looked out, his thoughts infinitely happier than the last time he had done so.

His room overlooked front of the property, the view taking in the sweep of the drive and the parkland that disappeared off into the distance. Some people might have preferred a view of the gardens and more formal grounds (which the main master suite indeed had), but Charles liked the openness of this vista, although of course it was currently shrouded from his sight by the deepening night.

In fact, he had stood there for several moments before he realised that were two points of light out there in darkness that didn’t belong, and a while longer before he realised they were coming closer, and must therefore be vehicle lamps.

He watched until the vehicle itself came into sight, illuminated as it drew up in front of the house by the porch lamps, and he saw it was a police carriage.

As soon as it drew to a stop, the door opened and Inspector Logan jumped out. And behind him, alighting in a much more dignified fashion, and with the assistance of Logan’s hand, was Emma Shaw.


	11. Chapter 11

“Inspector Logan!”

Logan looked up as Charles hurried down the stairs, the expression on his face simultaneously grim and relieved. Behind him, Charles could see Emma Shaw standing with Raven and Moira, and as he reached the foot of the stairs the two of them led her off in the direction of the drawing room, solicitous even though she looked perfectly composed and in control.

“Xavier,” Logan greeted him. “I hope you don’t mind my bringing her back here.”

“Not at all. Although I suppose I can assume from her presence that she is innocent after all?”

“It would appear so.”

“And Azazel?”

“Him too. We questioned him closely about his whereabouts last night and he claimed to have been in the public bar at the inn he was staying at all evening.”

“And was he?”

“Milsom went there and received positive identifications from the landlord and a number of his regular customers, so there’s no doubt.”

“Ah, I see.”

Logan grimaced. “I have to admit, I was almost disappointed. Another nice theory down the drain.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Charles told him. Then he frowned slightly. “But Emma Shaw can’t have been at the inn, and my sister said she found her alone in the drawing room before everyone started assembling for dinner that evening. She had no alibi for the time Shaw was killed, as I recall. So she could still have done it.”

“If you believe that she would have lowered herself to do her own dirty work, yes.”

“It’s not out of the question.”

“No, it’s not. And you’re right, she still doesn’t have an alibi.”

“So how can you be so sure she’s innocent?”

Logan sighed. “It’s not so much a matter of being sure she’s innocent, as being sure that someone else is guilty.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“Janos Quested has confessed to the crime.”

“ _What?_ ”

“He turned up at the police station not two hours ago – hitched a lift on a cart from outside the very same inn that Azazel was staying in, apparently – and stated quite baldly that he was the murderer.”

Charles was aware that he was gaping in shock, but before he could say anything else, there was a sharp gasp from behind him, and he turned to see Angel Salvadore standing halfway up the stairs.

She had obviously heard Logan’s last words, and was staring at them both from wide, frightened eyes, one hand pressed to her mouth and her skin dreadfully pale. As they watched, she swayed on her feet, clearly overcome, and Charles started forward quickly.

But he wasn’t close enough, and as Miss Salvadore crumpled she was caught by another pair of hands – Erik had appeared on the stairs behind her, and he swept her up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a feather pillow.

“Erik, thank god you were there,” Charles exclaimed. “Is she all right?”

“She has fainted,” Erik said, looking down at the girl in his arms.

“Inspector, perhaps you might run to the drawing room and fetch help. Moira – Miss MacTaggert – would be best, I think. And Mr McCoy as well.”

Logan nodded and went, returning quickly with both Moira and Henry, who Charles greeted with relief.

“A faint,” Henry confirmed. “She shouldn’t suffer any lasting physical effects after she comes out of it, but we should take her up to her room and lie her down.”

Charles caught Erik’s eye over Henry’s head, and Erik nodded minutely before turning and retreating back up the stairs, still carrying Miss Salvadore and followed by Henry and Moira.

“An interesting reaction,” Logan commented after a moment or two, and now that he had time to consider it, Charles had to agree.

“Perhaps we might adjourn to the library,” he suggested, and led the way when Logan nodded in agreement.

Charles sat down behind his desk, but Logan remained on his feet, pacing the room slowly as he explained things.

“As I said, Quested turned up completely out of the blue and confessed. And after that there was no way we could hold Mrs Shaw or Azazel, no matter how suspicious their actions seemed.”

“But what is Janos’ story? I thought he had an alibi? He said that he was seen by several people in the servants’ hall after he’d gone downstairs.”

“And he probably was. But he’s now also saying that he managed to slip back upstairs at some point and commit the murder, and that everyone was so busy downstairs that it was perfectly possible no one missed him when he did so.”

“I suppose it _is_ possible,” Charles said slowly. “A house full of guests does keep everyone on the hop, I know that much.”

“And the murder would only have taken a few minutes,” Logan pointed out. “I think the culprit could have been almost certain they’d done for Shaw even if they didn’t actually wait to see him die.”

Charles shuddered, and then realised something. “You say ‘the culprit’,” he said. “Don’t you believe it’s Janos, even though he’s confessed?”

“It’s all very plausible,” Logan replied. “But it’s also very convenient. And if he was going to confess, then why didn’t he do it this morning, when he was questioned?”

“No doubt he was frightened.”

“And now he’s not? No, something doesn’t ring true, but with a signed confession there’s not a lot I can do about it.”

“Did Janos say why he did it?”

“Shaw had been ill-treating him for years, apparently, ever since he’d become Quested’s employer.”

“I have to say, that doesn’t surprise me.”

“It seems that Shaw took him on when Quested’s previous employer died. Quested says he would have been destitute otherwise. Shaw never let him forget it, of course, and therefore saw it is as a licence to keep Quested well and truly downtrodden.”

“Until one day he snapped?”

“That’s about the size of it, yes,” said Logan. “Quested said he couldn’t take it any more and just had to do something. Although returning to Shaw’s room deliberately in order to kill him strikes me as more than a little premeditated, and _not_ the actions of man who just ‘snapped’.”

“Does that aspect of it really matter, now that he’s confessed?”

“It matters if the man is trying to pull the wool over my eyes,” Logan retorted. Then he drew a hand tiredly across his face. “I think there _is_ more to Quested’s story than he was saying, but I couldn’t get anything else out of him. He told a neat little tale, and now I must act upon it.”

“So you’ve charged him, then?”

“Of course. There was nothing else I could do. But I would very much like to know why Miss Salvadore was so upset when she heard the news.”

“Well, it can’t be pleasant to hear that someone you know has confessed to murder.”

“Quite. But all the same, I wonder…”

What Logan wondered Charles was not to find out right then, however, for at that moment there was a knock on the door, and Moira entered, trailed by Henry and Erik.

“How is Miss Salvadore?” Charles asked quickly.

“She came out of her faint as we were putting her in bed,” Moira replied. “But she was still very distressed by what she heard.”

“I had to give her a sleeping draught in the end,” Henry said. “She was most agitated and would not settle without one.”

“A sleeping draught?” said Logan. “How long will that last? I was hoping to ask her some questions.”

“She will be asleep for some while, I think,” Henry said. “It was obvious that the poor girl was exhausted as well as distraught. A good night’s rest is the best thing for her right now.”

“So she will be asleep the whole night?” Logan asked, looking irritated. “I wish you had consulted me before you did this.”

“I’m afraid I put the well-being of my patients _first_ , Inspector,” Henry said. “You may speak to her tomorrow, _if_ she is able to bear it.”

“Did she say anything at all before she fell asleep?” Charles put in, anxious to interrupt the brewing argument. “You said she was very agitated.”

“She was rambling,” said Erik, drawing Charles’ attention instantly.

“She said very little that made sense,” Moira agreed.

“Although one or two things perhaps stood out.”

“What sort of things?” Logan asked sharply.

“She said something about Quested only trying to protect her,” Erik told him. “But it was unclear what she meant by it.”

“And we didn’t think it was a good idea to pressure her to explain at that moment,” added Moira, obviously siding with Henry. Then she looked over at Charles. “Although, do you remember, Charles?” she said. “How Mr Quested was waiting for Miss Salvadore after her interview this morning?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Charles said. “He seemed very anxious to comfort her when she was upset.”

“Hmmm,” mused Logan, obviously recalling the event as well. “Interesting. And since I cannot ask Miss Salvadore about it right now,” he directed a pointed look at Henry, “I think I’ll have to direct a few more questions at Quested when I get back to the station. Perhaps he can shed some light on what she meant.”

He walked towards the door, and then stopped before he reached for the handle. “It’s just as I suspected,” he said to Charles. “There may be more to Quested’s story than he told us, after all.”

Then he let his eyes travel back to Moira and Henry. “Is Miss Salvadore alone right now?” he asked them.

“No, Mrs Shaw’s maid is sitting with her,” Moira replied.

“Good. I’d be grateful if she was not left alone at any point during the night – even if she does remain asleep. I’ll be back in the morning, and at that point I _will_ have to ask her some questions, no matter what.”

Henry looked as if he was about to argue, but at a quick headshake from Charles, reined himself in.

“I won’t wish you all a pleasant evening,” Logan continued. “But I will say that I believe we’re close to resolving this horrible matter, and then everyone can get back to their lives and move on.”

“Thank you, Inspector. We’ll expect you in the morning, then,” Charles said.

Logan nodded and went out.

“I hope he’s right,” said Moira after a moment. “I do feel as if this has been hanging over us for much longer than only a day.”

“Although if he thinks it will simply be easy for everyone to just ‘move on’, he is sadly mistaken,” Erik observed, rather bitterly, and Charles suddenly wished they were alone so he could go to the other man.

“Well, we can only try, I suppose,” was all he could say instead. Then, “And now I guess it is time for dinner. The others must be wondering what on earth is going on.”

“And I’m sure Mrs Daly must be extremely annoyed by now,” Moira added, looking at the clock on the mantel, which showed that the dinner gong should have been rung twenty minutes previously. “She must be beginning to think we are ruining all her meals on purpose.”

Charles sighed ruefully. “There’s nothing we can do about it now,” he said. “So we must just make the best of it and hope she hasn’t decided to lace the soup with arsenic in revenge.”

He realised the joke was somewhat tasteless as soon as he uttered it, but while Henry looked a little startled, Moira only shook her head slightly at him, and Erik looked as if he was too preoccupied to have heard Charles’ words anyway. Nonetheless, Charles smiled apologetically at everyone before hurrying to the door and leading the way to the dining room.

*~*~*~*~*

Dinner was once again a rather ramshackle affair. Moira’s prediction about Mrs Daly seemed likely to be true, if the speed with which the dishes were whisked to and from the table – obviously in an attempt to catch up with the dining schedule – was anything to judge by.

Emma Shaw had, unsurprisingly, declined to dine with the rest of the party, and requested a tray in her room (no doubt something else that would invoke Mrs Daly’s ire). But without her presence, there was at least no need to keep up appearances, allowing everyone to sit where they wished and converse with whomever they wanted.

Even so, Charles still found himself at one remove from Erik, with Armando between them, and although the three of them managed to carry on a sporadic discussion, Charles could not say all the things he wanted, and indeed also felt obliged (although it was no hardship, of course) to chat to Moira on his other side.

The informality continued at the end of the meal, when, as Raven rose to her feet, Charles sighed and said, “Oh, let’s not practice that ridiculousness tonight, my dear. I trust none of you gentlemen will have any objections if we all depart to the drawing room together?”

Nobody did, and so they all left the dining room in a crowd and made their way to the drawing room.

Charles had of course been unable to keep from the rest of the party the fact of Janos Quested’s confession, nor that of Miss Salvadore’s distress at the news, especially not when a coalition of Raven, Alex and Sean had demanded to know everything as soon as Charles and the others had sat down at the dining table. And although the subject had been well aired over dinner, naturally it was still the prevailing topic of conversation as everyone settled down for coffee and cards.

However, as he stood and watched his friends and guests disperse towards the tea table, the card table, and the sofas by the fire, he suddenly realised that he was heartily sick of the whole subject. There was nothing more to say and nothing more to be learned until the morning, and he found himself wishing fervently that they would all talk about something else

“Will you sit with me, over here?” Erik was gesturing towards a pair of chairs set a little apart from the rest of the room – where, in fact, Charles remembered him sitting on that first evening, watching everyone like the outsider he had no doubt felt himself to be.

Now, Charles hoped he didn’t still feel that way, but he couldn’t deny that it would be pleasant to be a little outside of things, and so he nodded gratefully, and together they made their way over to the chairs and sat down.

For a moment they were quiet together. Charles suspected that Erik was just as eager to depart from the subject on everyone’s lips, and he cast around desperately for something else to speak of.

“So, have you read any interesting books recently?” he eventually settled on, and was happy to hear Erik’s chuckle even as he smiled ruefully at his own cliché.

“I have not had much time for reading, lately,” Erik replied. “Perhaps you could suggest something to me? I’m sure I would enjoy anything you recommended.”

He raised a sly eyebrow as he spoke, and Charles spluttered slightly as the innuendo registered. Erik chuckled again, and Charles gave him a half-hearted glare before deliberately starting to enumerate a long list of books he had read of late.

The noise of the drawing room faded away as they conversed, Charles’ entire attention focused on Erik. How he wished he could move his chair closer, and take Erik’s hand in his, or even rest his knee against the warmth of Erik’s own. But propriety, and the law, prevented him, and thus they both had to take their pleasure from small, intimate smiles and unwavering gazes.

Time passed unnoticed, and it wasn’t until Raven entered their little enclave, to say good-night and give Charles a kiss on the cheek, that Charles realised how late the hour had grown.

Awareness of it also brought awareness of how weary he was, the few hours sleep he had found in Erik’s arms that afternoon not enough to combat two broken nights and an inordinate amount of stress.

He embraced Raven back fondly, and then watched as she and Moira made their way out of the room, soon followed by Henry and Armando. Alex and Sean showed no particular signs of following, however, engrossed as they appeared to be in some rather exuberant card game (and no doubt also continuing gossip).

Still, the card table was at the other end of the room, and Charles was sure enough of their privacy as he leaned forward and asked quietly, “Will you come to my room tonight? Not,” he added hastily “for anything like _that_ , necessarily. I just…well, I just want to be near you, I suppose,” he finished lamely.

Erik’s expression abruptly turned uncertain. “I am not sure that would be a good idea,” he said.

Something in Charles recoiled. Could he have been so mistaken, despite everything? “You regret what passed between us?” he said in a low, hesitant voice.

“No!” Erik’s protest was loud enough that Charles’ eyes flickered, alarmed, to Alex and Sean. However, luckily they both appeared to have remained oblivious to anything outside their game. “ _No_ ,” said Erik again, more quietly, but no less vehement. “You mistake me, Charles.” Then he smiled suddenly, and Charles let out a breath that he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding. “Believe me when I say that I would like nothing more than to accompany you. I would have no objections to anything that allowed me to be near you, but…”

“You think we should be careful.”

“Yes. We were lucky, this afternoon, that no one came looking for us. We may believe we should be free to feel as we like in this matter – and we are – but we are not free to _do_ as we like, not without risking everything. I will allow that you are entitled to take these risks on yourself, but I don’t think we should deliberately court disaster. There are too many pairs of eyes in this house at the moment, and they are all watchful. I do not want…I could not bear to lose you to discovery, so soon.”

Only the obvious fervency in Erik’s final words stopped Charles from protesting at his caution. Instead he sighed, and offered up a smile of his own, rueful though it was. “You are right, I suppose,” he said. “Although I cannot deny I wish it otherwise.”

“You are not alone in that,” Erik told him. “But we must…”

“Be careful,” Charles finished for him. “Very well, if we must.” He looked over at Alex and Sean. “Then I suppose we must depart to bed separately,” he said. “If we are to preserve any kind of illusion. Will you go first, or shall I?”

“You go,” said Erik. “I will wait here for a short while longer.”

“All right.” Charles rose from his chair, once again feeling acutely his weariness, and knowing now that nothing would cure it so well as to fall asleep by Erik’s side.

But there was no sense in dwelling on what could not be – tonight, at least – so instead he smiled down at Erik again, and murmured, “Good-night, my friend.”

“Good-night, Charles,” Erik replied. “I shall see you in the morning.”

“Until the morning,” Charles echoed. Then he tore himself away, nodding to Alex and Sean as he left the drawing room, and ascended the stairs to bed alone.

*~*~*~*~*

If asked, Charles would have sworn he’d been asleep. However, he could not have been very deeply so, as the quiet knock on the bedroom door roused him instantly, almost as if he’d been waiting for it.

He could sense the deep silence of the slumbering house around him as he quickly wrapped himself in a dressing gown and padded across the room to the door. He opened it softly, and then pulled it wider the moment he saw who it was.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” Erik said softly.

“It’s perfectly all right,” Charles told him, meaning every word. Then he forced himself to ask, “Is something wrong?”

“No,” replied Erik. “Only that…well, perhaps it is not so easy to be careful, or sensible, as I thought. I could not sleep,” he confessed.

 _I missed you_ , Charles heard, and he felt gladness bloom within him.

“May I come in?” Erik asked, tentative as if he was unsure of his welcome.

“You may always come in,” Charles said, and reached for Erik’s hand as he stepped forward, drawing him into the room so he could close the door behind them, shutting out the rest of the world.

*~*~*~*~*

Logan once again arrived while they were all having breakfast, obviously impatient to talk to Miss Salvadore. So impatient, in fact, that Charles had to press him to sit down and take a cup of coffee while they waited for Moira and Hank to confirm that the girl was indeed fit to be questioned. Although Logan’s demeanour indicated that he was unlikely to take no for an answer, in any case.

“You will want to be present again, I suppose?” Logan asked, taking a swig of coffee and eyeing the toast rack in a way that left Charles in no doubt that in his haste he’d found little time in which to eat breakfast.

Charles rescued the toast rack from the predations of Alex and Sean, pointedly nudged it towards the inspector, and answered, “I think I must insist on it. No matter what you think she may or may not have done, Angel Salvadore is still a very frightened young girl.”

Logan muttered something that sounded like “We’ll see,” and took two slices of toast.

“And I think I must also insist on Moira being there this time, too,” Charles added. “She’s been looking after Miss Salvadore since last night, and I think another friendly face wouldn’t go amiss.”

“Oh, very well,” said Logan, after a moment. “Although I won’t accept any interference from either of you, understood?”

“Perfectly.”

“What about me?” Erik spoke up from the other side of the table, where he had been a constant distraction to Charles’ thoughts ever since they’d sat down.

“What about you?” Logan enquired.

“May I be present too? I feel I have an interest in this – he was my uncle, after all.”

Of course, only Erik and Charles knew what Erik’s real interest in the proceedings was, and Charles darted a swift, penetrating glance at Erik as Logan said, “No, you may not. This isn’t a spectacle. We don’t want to overwhelm the girl, otherwise she might say nothing at all.”

“Perhaps Mr Lehnsherr could station himself outside the room?” Charles suggested quickly, sensing an argument in the making. “Then he might hear what is being said, without Miss Salvadore feeling she has too much of an audience.”

“Might I remind the two of you that not so long ago Mr Lehnsherr was the chief suspect in this case,” Logan snapped. “To have him secretly listening in is highly irregular.” He looked between Erik and Charles. “Although I suppose I can’t actually stop him,” he added, with a sigh. “If he has your permission to lurk in your corridors, there’s not a lot I can do about it.”

“Thank you, Inspector,” Charles said.

Logan merely scowled in response, and then glared at everyone else around the breakfast table, all of whom had been watching the exchange avidly. Charles almost laughed at the alacrity with which they turned their attention back to their bacon, eggs and toast.

All except Raven, of course, who said, “I really can’t believe that Miss Salvadore has anything to do with all this. She seems so quiet and shy most of the time.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, Miss Xavier” Logan replied. “The quietest, most timid people are just as capable of concealing things as the confident and outgoing ones. Although of course, we don’t know _what_ Miss Salvadore may have to say yet.”

Moira chose that moment to enter the breakfast room, and everyone’s interest sharpened again as she announced quietly, “I believe Miss Salvadore is ready to see you now, Inspector.” She showed no sign of surprise at the fact that Logan was already present.

“Thank you, Miss MacTaggert,” Logan replied. “Where is she?”

“Still in her room,” said Moira. “I hope that is suitable? She is still rather weak and cast down, so I didn’t think it was necessary to force her to come downstairs.”

“It shouldn’t be a problem,” said Logan. “It might even be more private. As far as privacy is possible, of course,” he added, directing a pointed look at Charles and Erik.

“Shall we go up, then?” Charles said. “There’s no need to make Miss Salvadore more nervous by making her wait, after all.” He turned to Moira. “Inspector Logan has agreed you may be present this time, for Miss Salvadore’s support. If you have no objections to it, that is.”

“Of course not,” Moira said. “I’d like to offer whatever help I can.”

“Let’s get on, then,” Logan said. “Miss MacTaggert, perhaps you would lead the way?”

Moira nodded, and Logan, Charles and Erik followed her out of the room. Moira was obviously slightly puzzled as to why Erik was accompanying them, but she didn’t question it, and merely led them towards the staircase.

As they crossed the hall, Charles realised that Bosworth was once again waiting there, with Randall keeping a watchful eye on him, and he wondered whether the constable would be accompanying them upstairs. But Logan only nodded at the other policeman, obviously a signal to stay put, and Charles felt it politic to pause for a moment to ask Randall to fetch Bosworth a cup of tea and some breakfast, before hurrying to catch up with the rest of the group.

He reached them before they were halfway up the stairs, and found that Erik had waited for him while Moira had gone ahead with Logan.

“Thank you for stepping in for me,” Erik said quietly to Charles as they followed together a little way behind.

“Not at all.”

“You can appreciate why I need to hear this, I hope? I may have thought better of my own plans, but feeling as I did – do – about Shaw, I…”

“…need to find out exactly what happened to him,” Charles finished. “Yes, I can understand that. Although, as Logan said, we don’t know exactly what Miss Salvadore may reveal. She may know nothing, in the end. You shouldn’t build your hopes up too high.”

“I know,” Erik replied. “Although – and for once I think my feelings concur with Inspector Logan’s in this – I sense that we may learn something important today. Like your sister, I don’t want to think that Miss Salvadore is involved in my uncle’s death, but something tells me she at least knows something important.”

“I fear you may be right,” Charles confessed. “Although I too wish it was not so – for her sake, at least.”

“Here we are,” Moira said then, and Charles realised that their quiet conversation had carried them all the way to the door of Miss Salvadore’s room. He also noticed that Logan was regarding both himself and Erik with sharp interest, and resisted the urge to put a little more space between them – there was no way Logan could have deduced anything untoward about their relationship, and he wasn’t going to give the inspector anything to be suspicious about by acting guiltily.

“You’ll wait out here, as we agreed,” Logan said to Erik. “And if you betray your presence, I won’t be responsible for the consequences.”

Erik nodded, and then, as Charles finally did step away, to follow Logan and Moira into Miss Salvadore’s room, he caught at Charles’ arm.

“I’ll be out here,” he said, quite unnecessarily, as Charles at first thought. Then he added, “If you need me.”

Charles smiled. “I don’t think I’m in much danger from Miss Salvadore,” he replied. Then he saw the look on Erik’s face. “But I shall say that I’ll be careful, if it will make you feel better.”

He laid his hand over Erik’s where it rested on his arm, squeezed it briefly, and then slipped into Angel Salvadore’s room.


	12. Chapter 12

“It is quite all right, my dear,” Moira was saying, as Charles pushed the door not-quite-closed behind him. “Inspector Logan only wants to ask you some questions, like before. There’s nothing to be worried about.” She was sitting on the bed next to Miss Salvadore, holding the girl’s hand as Miss Salvadore looked at Logan with frightened eyes.

Charles went around to the other side of the bed and nodded to Smith, who had been watching Miss Salvadore while Moira was downstairs. The maid rose immediately and hurried out of the room (Charles hoped she wasn’t too startled by finding Erik lurking in the corridor), and Charles took her vacated seat. He pasted a comforting smile on his face and leaned towards Miss Salvadore a little.

“There’s no need to be scared,” he said reassuringly, but Miss Salvadore shrunk away from him and he sat back again, not wanting to crowd her.

Logan had remained at the end of the bed, an interrogator facing the three of them across the blankets, and Charles silently prayed that he would at least be gentle, no matter what the outcome of this was.

The inspector certainly seemed prepared to begin that way. “How are you feeling this morning, Miss?” he asked.

But Miss Salvadore didn’t answer, instead looking more frightened than ever.

“I hope you’re recovering from your funny turn last night,” Logan continued, undaunted. “That must have been a bit of a shock for you, hearing the news about Janos Quested like that.”

Miss Salvadore nodded quickly, and although her response wasn’t verbal, at least it was something.

“I’m told you were rather distressed by the whole thing – quite natural, of course. Although perhaps a little unusual when the matter concerned a mere servant. Not someone you knew well, presumably?”

Logan let the question hang for a moment, but when Miss Salvadore once again failed to answer, continued, “I’ve been told that you said some things, in your distress. Things about Mr Quested. That he was only trying to protect you, is that right? Now, why should he want to protect you? Possibly you knew each other better than it appears?”

Miss Salvadore still didn’t answer, but Charles suddenly noticed that her free hand was trembling where it rested on the coverlet.

“I really must ask you to respond, Miss Salvadore,” Logan said, his voice hardening a little. “I’m investigating a murder, surely you understand that? And you’re not helping yourself, or Janos Quested, by keeping silent.”

“Inspector, really,” Moira protested, but Logan held up a quelling hand as Miss Salvadore finally murmured something.

“I beg your pardon, Miss?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Miss Salvadore said, more loudly this time. “I don’t remember saying anything like that.”

“Are you sure?” Logan demanded. “Mr Lehnsherr and the others were very certain of it.”

“I don’t remember,” repeated Miss Salvadore.

“All right. But I don’t think we can doubt that you _did_ say it. And there must be a reason that you think Quested would try to protect you.”

However, Miss Salvadore, it seemed, had resumed her silence.

“Let me tell you my theory, then,” Logan said, stepping up to the foot of the bed and staring down at Miss Salvadore somewhat forbiddingly. “Sebastian Shaw was not the nicest or kindest of men, I think we can all agree on that.” He glanced at Charles briefly, and Charles was forced to nod.

“He would not have been my first choice for a neighbour,” he admitted.

“And yet he seemed to be able to find it in the goodness of his heart to take in an orphaned girl and make her his ward. A moment of generosity? I don’t think so. I think it was something more sinister.”

“More sinister?” Charles questioned. A feeling of dread stole over him, although he couldn’t quite say why.

“Yes,” said Logan. “We also know that Shaw wasn’t very nice to his servants. Both you and Mr Lehnsherr heard him shouting at Quested, and Quested himself confirms that Shaw was not a good employer – in fact, he cites it as his motive for murder.”

Miss Salvadore gasped quietly, and Logan looked at her sharply. However, he did not ask her anything, but instead continued with his hypothesis. “And I think his servants weren’t the only people he wasn’t nice to,” he said. “I think, Miss Salvadore, he treated you badly as well. I think that Janos Quested knew it and hated it, and I think that perhaps he killed Sebastian Shaw to protect you from him.”

“No.” It was little more than a whisper, but there was no doubt about the word. And then Charles realised that tears were running silently down Miss Salvadore’s face. Moira obviously noticed at the same moment, and looked upset, pulling out a handkerchief and pressing it into Miss Salvadore’s hands. But the girl merely held on to it and continued to cry.

“No?” Logan said. “Am I wrong then?”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean…” Miss Salvadore stopped, obviously confused, and then, to Charles’ amazement, sat up straighter against her pillows, shook off Moira’s comforting hand, and stared defiantly at Logan.

“He persecuted me,” she said, her voice clearer than it had been at any moment up until that point. “Continuously and mercilessly. He seemed to think that because he had ‘rescued’ me after my parents’ deaths, he could do whatever he liked with me. And that I should be _grateful_.”

“Persecuted you?”

“He abused me. As only a man can abuse…a woman.”

Now it was Moira’s turn to gasp, and Charles felt himself go pale as he stared at Angel Salvadore. He hadn’t liked Sebastian Shaw, but never, _never_ had he thought the man capable of what this girl was telling them. Briefly, his eyes strayed to the door, still slightly ajar, and he wondered what Erik was making of all this.

“Why did you stay with him?” Moira asked gently.

“Because I had nowhere else to go,” Miss Salvadore cried. “I had no choice, just like I had no choice when he took me in. I would have been alone, and destitute – and even that might have been preferable, except that Sebastian wouldn’t let me get away so easily. He killed my parents so he could get his hands on everything they had, and he wasn’t going to let me slip through his fingers.”

“He killed your parents?” Logan said. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Angel said, and Charles remembered what Erik had said after Shaw’s death.

_“When my uncle saw a thing he wanted, he took it. And if something – or someone – stood in his way, he got rid of it.”_

“I have no proof, of course,” Miss Salvadore continued bitterly. “But I know it. He wanted my father’s business, his money, and me, so he killed him, and my mother. I know he is responsible, even though it looked like an accident.”

There was a pause, and then, “That may be,” Logan said briskly, although Charles could see that he was not unsympathetic. “But we’re not investigating the death of your parents, but that of Sebastian Shaw. Tell me, where does Janos Quested fit in to all this?”

“He was an employee of my father’s,” Miss Salvadore told them. “Shaw took him on when my parents’ death left him without work.”

“But why would Quested agree to work for Shaw? Surely he could have got employment elsewhere?”

“He could have, that’s true,” said Miss Salvadore. “But…he wanted to protect me. I think he already had an idea of what Shaw was like – he also suspected him of my parents’ murder. And although he couldn’t stop Sebastian from taking me, he could enter his employ, so he could watch over me.”

“He doesn’t seem to have done a very good job up until now,” Logan observed flatly.

“There was nothing he could do!” Miss Salvadore retorted. “But I was grateful to him for being there. For trying.” A few more tears slipped down her face.

“But why should he go to such lengths to watch out for you?”

“He loves you, doesn’t he?” Charles interposed, when Miss Salvadore’s tears prevented her from answering once more. “I saw something of it yesterday, when he comforted you after Inspector Logan had spoken to you the first time.”

Miss Salvadore nodded. “Yes,” she said, in a subdued voice. “He does love me. He says he always has, ever since he started working for my father. But my father would not have allowed one of his employees to court his daughter, and then, after Sebastian came…there was no hope…”

“Do you love him too?” Charles asked gently.

“There would be no point in loving him, not now.”

“But you do, don’t you?”

Angel nodded again.

“So his love drove him to commit this desperate act, I suppose,” said Logan. “He knew of Shaw’s abuse of you, and killed him to put a stop to it once and for all.”

But this time Angel shook her head. “No, that’s not what happened,” she said. Then she paused for the briefest moment, before continuing, “Janos didn’t kill Sebastian. I did.”

There was a stunned silence, although Charles couldn’t help but notice that the expression on Logan’s face was not entirely surprised.

“Tell me what happened, Miss Salvadore,” the inspector said heavily, after a long moment.

“I…I didn’t mean to. I didn’t plan it. I just…I was so frightened, and so alone, and he was so cruel…”

“Tell me what happened,” said Logan again.

“I…I was ready early, like I told you before, but instead of waiting in my room, as I said, I was going to go downstairs, and maybe borrow a book from the library, to amuse myself until everyone else was ready.”

“But you never made it downstairs, did you?”

No. Sebastian’s room is next door, and as I passed it he opened the door and saw me. I tried to slip past him, but he took hold of me and pulled me into his room.”

“And his intentions were…to take advantage of you?”

“Of course they were,” exclaimed Miss Salvadore. “We were alone – Mrs Shaw had already gone downstairs – and he thought he could do whatever he wanted to me.”

Charles felt sick. The idea that such a heinous act had so very nearly been committed under his own roof. Murder was horrible, of course, but this…this defied description. That Shaw had thought nothing of abusing a young girl in the house of his host, and then playing the genial guest as if nothing had happened…

“So he tried…to force himself on you?” Logan asked, clearly as disgusted as Charles. On Miss Salvadore’s other side, Charles could hear Moira breathing raggedly.

“He did. I tried to get away. He pushed me back against the dressing table and tore my dress. I struggled, and some things on the table fell to the floor. Then I felt the scissors under my hand and I…reacted.”

“You stabbed him with them.”

“Yes. I didn’t realise what I had done until he was lying on the floor.”

“Then what did you do?” Logan now had the air of one who wished he could put a stop this line of questioning, but who knew he had to see it through to the end.

And oddly, Miss Salvadore seemed to have come to the same realisation. Her voice had become almost calm as she related the story of Shaw’s murder, and Charles was concerned to see that an almost vacant expression was stealing across her face.

“I came back to my room and removed my dress. It was covered in blood and I knew I had to hide it.”

“Where did you put it?”

“Under the bed. I pushed it between the mattress and the frame.”

With a muffled oath, Logan dropped down and peered under the bed. He grunted as he reached for something, and when he stood up again, Charles could see that he was holding a bundle of cloth, crumpled and stained with red.

“A clever hiding place. It wouldn’t have been easily seen by someone just giving the space under the bed a cursory glance,” said Logan. He frowned. “Everything might have been sorted out a lot sooner if my men had been just a bit more thorough in their search.”

“But who would even think of such a thing?” said Moira. “That a young girl could be capable of…”

“She could be perfectly capable,” said Miss Salvadore, still eerily calm, “if given the right incentive.”

“I think we can all guess what happened next,” said Logan. “You’ve already said that you were capable of dressing yourself, so after removing this bloodstained dress, you put on another one and finally went downstairs to join everyone else before dinner.”

“That’s right.”

“And then it was just a matter of keeping quiet. Although you couldn’t stop it from preying on your mind. You’d freed yourself from persecution, but at what cost? Although some people might say the cost was worth it.”

No one spoke for a moment. Moira had her arm around Miss Salvadore’s shoulders, but the girl still seemed strangely serene after her confession. Moved by the impulse to comfort her likewise, for he found he did not blame Miss Salvadore in the slightest for her actions, awful as they were, Charles reached out for the hand that rested closest to him on the bed.

“I am so sorry, my dear,” he said. “Please do not fear – I will do whatever I can to help you…”

But before he could grasp Miss Salvadore’s hand she rounded on him suddenly, and that same hand lashed out, fingernails scoring scratches down his face. Charles cried out, more in surprise than in pain, and the door of the room was abruptly flung wide as Erik burst into the room.

“Charles!”

Charles shook his head quickly, denying that anything was really wrong, although he could not stop himself from raising his hand to his face, where there were several stinging lines across his cheek.

Erik halted, but did not look convinced. Logan looked still less impressed with Erik’s hasty entrance.

“I will not have any more ‘well meaning’ rich men trying to ‘help’ me,” Miss Salvadore was saying, wild now where she had previously been calm. “You all want one thing and one thing only – to control me and to control my life!” Her voice rose to a shriek on the last word, and then she burst into a storm of sobs.

*~*~*~*~*

Charles hissed and tried to flinch away from the antiseptic that was being dabbed on his face. Henry tutted in admonishment.

“Keep still,” he instructed, and Charles tried valiantly as the young doctor went back to his work.

Finally, Henry seemed satisfied, and sat back. “The scratches aren’t deep,” he said, “so I won’t insist on covering them. But you must keep them clean, and I’m afraid that shaving might be off the cards for a while.”

“You’ll have to grow a beard, Charles,” Raven said humorously – obviously her idea of comfort. “I think you’ll look quite dashing.”

Charles grimaced. “I think I’ll look completely dissolute,” he countered. But when he glanced at his sister, he could see that behind her levity she was still worried for him, and he mustered up a smile. “Although I suppose I don’t really have a choice.”

He _didn’t_ look at Erik to see what he thought, but he couldn’t be unaware of the other man, hovering silently off to one side. Erik hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left Angel Salvadore in the hands of Inspector Logan and Constable Bosworth, which Charles supposed was understandable – he had a lot to come to terms with.

Charles rather felt like it was going to take him some time to come to terms with it all himself.

“In any case, there’s nothing more I can do really,” Henry added. “You’re lucky she didn’t catch your eye.”

“Yes, thank you, Henry,” Charles said. Then he realised he might have sounded a little snappish, and once more made the effort to smile. “Thank you,” he said again. “There’s no one I’d rather have tending to me than you.”

“I’m not sure I would have been much help if it had been much worse,” Henry demurred.

“Nonsense, you’re a superb doctor.”

Henry flushed, and then rose to his feet a little awkwardly. “Well, now that I’m finished here, perhaps I’d better go and see about my packing – if I’m to be ready to leave after lunch like everyone else.”

Charles nodded, and then, still aware of Erik waiting next to him, said, “Raven, perhaps you could lend Mr McCoy some assistance?” It was a transparent ruse – Henry was more than capable of seeing to his own packing, and Charles didn’t for a moment expect his sister to start folding another man’s shirts for him – and Raven obviously saw right through it. But after a quick glance between Charles and Erik, she only nodded and smiled, and held out her arm for Henry to take.

“Of course. I’ll see if I can find George or someone to help bring your luggage downstairs, shall I?” she said to Henry, as she led him from the room.

And finally, Charles was able to turn to Erik. But before he could say a word, the library door was pushed open again, and Logan peered in.

“Ah, here you are, Xavier. Everything all right?” He gestured perfunctorily at Charles, which Charles took to be a reference to his injuries.

“I’m fine, Inspector. They’re only superficial, and Henry thinks they’ll heal with no problems.”

“Glad to hear it. Well, I just stopped in to say that we’re about to leave, to take Miss Salvadore down to the station.”

“Thank you for letting me know.” Charles sighed. “What a horrible end to all this. To think that such awful things could have happened to such a young girl.”

“Indeed.” Logan looked sharply at him. “Although you do understand that I had to arrest her? Murder is still murder, after all.”

“Yes, I know.”

“But I’m hopeful that the circumstances will count for something. We may be able to prevent the harshest of sentences.”

“I hope so too.” Charles hesitated, and then asked the question that had been preying on his mind. “Did you know?” he said. “Before you saw her this morning, I mean. Did you know Miss Salvadore was guilty?”

“I suspected, very strongly,” Logan replied. “I told you yesterday that something about Quested’s story didn’t seem right, and when Mr Lehnsherr here related what Miss Salvadore had said in her distress, things started to slot together in my mind.”

“So that theory you put to her, about Janos having done it to protect her from Shaw – you knew that wasn’t true and you were using it to draw her out, I suppose?”

“Something like that. And I’m happy to say that it worked. I wouldn’t have wished for it to be Miss Salvadore, but at least now a guilty man will not spend his life in jail for something he didn’t do.”

“No, but the woman he loves will still be lost to him forever,” Erik pointed out, speaking suddenly, his voice hard and cynical.

“That is true,” Logan acknowledged. He glanced between Charles and Erik, and then continued, “Well, that’s all I really came in to say. Now I must get back to the station – murder investigations don’t simply end when we catch the culprit.”

“Thank you, Inspector,” Charles said. “For everything. And…you will be kind to Miss Salvadore, won’t you?”

“I’ll do everything I can for her,” Logan promised. Then he nodded to Charles and went out, leaving Charles and Erik alone again.

For a moment, Charles wasn’t sure what to say. He’d wanted to speak privately with Erik ever since Miss Salvadore had made her revelation, to make sure that the other man was all right, and find out what he made of everything that had passed. But now Erik looked almost forbidding, standing there so silently, and he’d sounded so bitter just now, when speaking of Miss Salvadore and Mr Quested’s separation, that Charles felt rather at sea.

Then, with no warning, Erik suddenly moved towards him, until they were standing only inches apart, Erik staring at him in such way that it was as if he was piercing Charles’ very soul.

“Are you all right?” Erik asked. The words were rough and hoarse, and as he spoke he lifted a hand to Charles’ face, where the injuries caused by Miss Salvadore stood out starkly. His fingers did not touch the skin of Charles’ cheek, but Charles could feel the warmth of them, and he longed to lean into the aborted caress.

But Henry’s instructions prevented him, and instead he only nodded. “I am,” he said. “She didn’t not cause me any great injury, as you can see.”

“Thank god.”

“Erik, you don’t need to worry,” Charles said softly. “I am perfectly well.” He caught the hand that was still hovering near his cheek. “But enough about me, how are _you_? Now that you have found out the truth.”

“I…I am disgusted with myself,” Erik replied, and now Charles almost wanted to flinch away from the self-recrimination in his voice.

“Whatever for?” he asked.

“To think that Shaw was capable of doing such a thing…”

“But you were not there,” Charles objected. “You couldn’t have known.”

“But I _could_ have been there,” Erik pointed out. “If my own selfish and ridiculous notions of revenge had not drawn me away, I might have been able to do something…to help.”

“You can’t think like that,” Charles argued. “You had perfectly valid reasons for wanting to stay away from your uncle, and not live under his roof. You can’t take this upon yourself. You _didn’t_ know he was capable of something so terrible.”

“I knew he was capable of awful things,” Erik said. “What he did to my mother, for example, and what I discovered during my investigations. I should never have left, or I should have come back sooner. Taking in a young girl like that was so out of character for him – I should have realised that. I should have…”

“ _Erik_ ,” said Charles sharply. “Please. Don’t start down this road. It’s a terrible and regrettable thing that has happened, but it’s _not your fault._ ”

He kissed the knuckles of the hand that he still held, and then leaned up and kissed Erik’s mouth. The lips beneath his were unyielding for a moment, but then they softened, and Erik kissed him back.

“I believed you when you said you were not guilty of Shaw’s murder,” Charles murmured, “so you must believe me now when I say you are not responsible for Miss Salvadore’s predicament either.”

“I _must_ believe you?” Erik questioned. But although he still didn’t look fully convinced, he was at least smiling a little now, and Charles decided to accept the small victory for the moment.

“There is one thing I should be sorry for, though,” Erik continued. “And that is that all this should have happened under your roof. I am sorry that I and my uncle – and my aunt and even Miss Salvadore – have brought this to your doorstep.”

“And if you had not?” Charles said. “If you had not ‘brought all this to my doorstep’, as you put it, we might never have met. At least,” he amended, “not in circumstances that might have flowered into…this.”

“Is _this_ worth all that, though?”

“ _Yes_ ,” said Charles, perhaps a little more vehemently than he’d intended. He felt himself blush slightly. “I mean, I suppose I could wish that my guests had not had to deal with some of the weekend’s events, and of course I wish that Shaw was not dead and Miss Salvadore had not been driven to murder, but I cannot regret that it all somehow led to our coming together.”

He seemed to have silenced Erik with his declarations, and for a little while they stood quietly together, entwined in such a way that no one would have been able to doubt what they had discovered had they walked in on them suddenly. For once, however, neither of them could bring themselves to care.

Eventually, though, Erik sighed and drew away a little. “The murder may be solved,” he said, “but as Inspector Logan said, that does not mean the end of things. There will be a lot to sort out now, I fear. I will need call in my uncle’s lawyer and see how matters stand.”

“I did not realise you were thinking of such mundane subjects,” Charles said, knowing that Erik would see the twinkle in his eye. “Clearly my presence is not so riveting as I have always believed.”

“You are riveting enough,” Erik told him. “But there is too much in my head at the moment to pay you the attention you deserve.”

“You don’t need to worry, I understand,” Charles said. “Do you think there will be a lot of work involved in untangling your uncle’s affairs?”

“How can there not be? His fortune is large, and although I am not an expert, the suspect methods by which he obtained a lot of it must have an impact. No doubt he left a will, but how many of the legacies will be able to be issued intact? Or at all? Yes, I think there will be a lot of work.”

“And you have no idea of how much will be left.”

“No idea at all. For all I know, my plans could come to fruition too late, and my aunt and I will be left penniless after all.”

“Try not to concern yourself too much about that,” Charles said. “You know I would not see you destitute.”

“And how would you prevent it?” Erik asked. Then he looked at Charles sharply. “I won’t take your charity,” he warned harshly. “I won’t be a kept man.”

“And I wouldn’t offer you charity,” Charles replied. “Nor try to ‘keep’ you. But surely you can allow your friends to help you – if it should even come to that.”

Erik glared at him for a few seconds longer, and then his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You may already have noticed that I am not used to this, and therefore I am not good at it. As I have told you before, friends have been few and far between during my life, and I am still learning to accept them.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” Charles said. “And I will be your friend whatever you say to me.”

Erik drew close to him again, and Charles privately revelled in the renewed proximity. “I am glad to hear that,” Erik murmured. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“And you will not,” Charles told him softly. “You may be sure of that.”


	13. Chapter 13 - Epilogue

_Six months later…_

The buzz of chatter and laughter filled the drawing room and spilled out on to the terrace. It was early April, and spring had quite definitely sprung, to the extent that Charles had happily thrown the room’s French doors wide open, allowing all the guests to enjoy the mild afternoon air while they sipped their champagne.

He caught sight of Raven and Henry, arm in arm and looking quite devoted. Indeed, Henry seemed barely able to take his eyes off Raven, and Raven’s gay, bubbling laugh rose frequently above the general hubbub.

“They look happy,” a voice at Charles’ elbow observed.

“They are happy,” he replied. “And so am I. I couldn’t have wished for a better husband for my sister – I know she will be truly content.”

“I am glad for all of you then.”

Charles chuckled and turned, smiling up at Erik. “I am also happy that you could be here today,” he told the other man. “I feared you would be kept away again.”

“I would not have missed this for the world,” Erik said sincerely. “Other considerations may wait.”

“How are things progressing?” Charles asked. “That is, if it is not too dull to speak about business at an engagement party. Your last letter indicated that matters were going well.”

“They are,” Erik said. “In fact, that is the other reason I would not have wanted to miss today. I wished to speak to you in person, to tell you that things are finally settled. One or two minor issues remain, but it seems that I am largely done with lawyers and paperwork – for the moment, at least.”

“And are things settled to your satisfaction?”

“You mean, does any of my uncle’s fortune remain to me?” Erik clarified shrewdly. “You know that it does, of course. We’ve known that for a while. And while it is not all of it, it is still a substantial amount. It appears that my uncle was capable of engaging in _legal_ business practices as well as those of a dubious nature. Not all of the money is forfeit.”

Charles wanted to say that he was pleased, but was unsure how the sentiment would be received – Erik was still a little touchy on the subject of money, and the acquisition of rather a large amount of it had not changed that.

So instead he remained silent as Erik sighed and said, “I confess, I still can’t quite believe that my uncle left me his fortune. We had been estranged for so many years that I thought he would have disinherited me – not that I ever had any thought of being his heir in the first place. I wouldn’t have wanted it.”

“I know,” Charles said. He wanted to step closer to Erik, to lay a reassuring hand on his arm, but there were too many eyes to bear witness to such an action, so he had to settle for infusing his voice with as much warmth as possible. “I know you didn’t want it, and I know you don’t necessarily think you need or deserve it, but it _is_ yours now, Erik, by right. And you could do so much with it, you know.”

“I suppose it does go some way towards explaining why he took me in, though,” Erik continued, his expression somewhat distant. “The question I never received a satisfactory answer to - why, when he was so awful to my mother, disowning her because she was poor and lowly, did he then take in her son, an equally lowly brat, and raise him under his roof?”

“Because he needed…”

“…an heir? He might have produced one of his own.”

“Although the fact that he never did would seem to indicate otherwise,” Charles offered.

“I suppose so. But still, I do not think that was the reason – not the primary one, at least. My uncle was too fond of his despicable life to give much thought to who would inherit his riches when he was gone. Knowing him, he would have endeavoured to spend as much of it as possible while he was alive so there was nothing left to leave.”

“So why, then?”

“I have thought about it a lot over the years, and even more so during these past months,” said Erik. “And I think he wanted to prove something. I think he wanted to prove that he could take that lowly brat and mould it into something else. A final kind of revenge on my mother for bringing shame on the family, if you will – he would take her son and make him forget that he had ever _been_ her son.”

“Except that, if that was his plan, it does not seem to have been very successful.”

“No. I could have told him, if he had cared to ask, that I would _never_ forget whose son I was. Although I think he realised it quickly enough.”

“And yet he still left you his fortune.”

“Yes. It is curious. The lawyer told me that the will had been altered recently, but not to disinherit me. It seems that, despite everything, Shaw still hoped he could exert some influence on me. Perhaps he thought that years more of genteel poverty after I left his house would eventually bring me to my senses, and turn me into the person he wanted me to be. Perhaps he thought he had triumphed when I did return – although had he lived long enough, he would have discovered his mistake.”

“Erik.” Charles took a risk and laid a gentle hand on Erik’s arm after all. He did not like the way Erik’s voice had hardened and turned cold.

Happily, his touch seemed to rouse Erik from his darkening mood, and the other man shook his head slightly, his eyes clearing as he looked at Charles.

“I’m sorry. It appears it will take me longer than anticipated to throw off my hatred of my uncle.”

“I don’t ask – or expect – you to forget it,” Charles told him. “I simply do not want it to rule you.”

Erik’s expression softened further. “It does not, I assure you,” he said. “There is a smaller place for hatred in my heart than there used to be.”

Charles smiled and squeezed the arm under his hand briefly, before regretfully letting go. “You said that the will had been altered recently,” he said. “In what way, if not to disinherit you?”

“As it turns out, to disinherit my aunt,” Erik replied. “It was obviously a reaction to Shaw’s discovery of her affair of Azazel.”

“So she has nothing now?”

“Not from his hand.”

“But from yours?”

Erik sighed. “There is no love lost between us, it’s true, but she is not at fault for my uncle’s ways. I don’t even blame her for her adultery. Being married to Shaw could not have been a pleasant experience.”

“So you are helping her?”

“I have given her my uncle’s London flat to live in. She always preferred the city to the country, in any case.”

“I remember her mentioning it,” Charles said, thinking back to that stilted dinner conversation, so long ago.

“I don’t expect we’ll have much to do with each other – there are other places for me to stay when I have to be in London – but I could not leave her destitute. As I believe you once pointed out.”

Charles only smiled in response to that. Then he asked, “So if your aunt is to have the London flat, and you will only be in town infrequently, as you imply, where will you live the rest of the time?”

“As I said, a significant amount of my uncle’s fortune, and legitimate incomes for the future, still remain. Enough to keep the London residence and…his country estate.”

“So you will live there?” Charles held his breath, hoping.

“I find this neighbourhood agrees with me, yes.”

“Well, as your new neighbour, let me be the first to welcome you, then,” Charles said, his relief finding vent in an impish grin.

“Thank you,” said Erik, grinning back in a way that lit up his face and made Charles feel quite breathless. Then his expression turned more serious – although no less happy for all that. “I want to be near you,” he said quietly. “We still cannot be open, of course, but I don’t want us to be apart more than is necessary.”

“I could not agree more,” Charles told him. “I am happy, and I find the only thing I want is further happiness.” He chuckled. “We shall be the very _best_ of neighbours, I think.”

“I hope so.”

“Mr Lehnsherr!” Raven’s cry of delight interrupted anything further they might have said, and a moment later she was upon them, tugging Henry along behind her. “I’m so happy you could make it. I know Charles was beginning to fear that London and lawyers and legal wrangles had consumed you completely.”

“Raven, please,” Charles said, embarrassed.

But Erik only laughed. “I hope my wrangles are nearly over, Miss Xavier,” he said. “And may I take this opportunity to offer both you and Mr McCoy my sincerest congratulations?”

“Thank you,” replied Raven, and Henry echoed her. “But when did you arrive? You must have slipped in very quietly.”

“Only a short while ago,” Erik told her. “I may be nearly done with lawyers, but unfortunately they still have some claims on me. I could only get away this morning.”

“And do you have any news?” Raven asked. “Perhaps,” her voice sobered slightly, “of Miss Salvadore?”

“Yes, have you heard anything of how she is fairing?” Henry added, drawing Raven more closely against him in obviously unconscious support.

Charles frowned a little, wishing that Raven would not dwell so much on the unfortunate girl’s fate. Erik was not the only one who had blamed himself for not seeing what Shaw had done to Miss Salvadore. Raven had spent far too much time wondering whether, if she had been a better friend to the girl who was one of their closest neighbours, she might have spotted something, or persuaded Miss Salvadore to confide in her. Charles had had more luck in convincing her she was not at fault than he’d had with Erik – at least, he had progressed faster in his efforts – but Raven was still very much interested in Miss Salvadore’s fate.

“Only that she has now taken up permanent residence in a hospital,” Erik answered. “The combined efforts of Inspector Logan and myself – not to mention Charles here – managed to prevent any worse fate, but she will not be allowed her freedom for a long time.”

“It is the best that could have been expected, I suppose,” said Henry. “Still, it grieves me that it should have come to this.”

“It grieves all of us, Henry,” Charles told him. “But at least we have been allowed to help her, and make her as comfortable as possible.”

“And at least she is not in prison,” Raven added. “Do you think I might be allowed to visit her, Charles?”

“I don’t know,” replied Charles. “But I will see what I can find out.” He was loathe to let Raven do any such thing, for no matter that Miss Salvadore was in a hospital and not a prison, it was still an incarceration, and not anywhere he really wanted his sister to go. But he could see that it would mean a lot to her – and besides, despite everything, he was proud of Raven for offering what help and comfort she could to the poor girl.

They were all silent for a moment, thinking of Miss Salvadore’s fate, and then Erik offered, continuing his previous conversation with Charles although Raven and Henry had not been privy to it, “There was something else in my uncle’s will, that may allow me to assist Miss Salvadore further.”

“You mean the dowry,” Charles guessed instantly.

“Exactly,” Erik nodded.

The dowry that Shaw had – perhaps somewhat surprisingly – also left in his will for Miss Salvadore had come to light early on. It was a substantial amount, although both of them had doubted that it would ever have been used while Shaw was still alive, as Shaw had stipulated that his explicit approval of the man Miss Salvadore wished to marry would be necessary for the money to be bestowed. And it seemed unlikely that, given Shaw’s hold on Miss Salvadore, any such approval would ever have been given, even if her chosen spouse were a paragon of manhood. Even after Shaw’s death, the use of the dowry had been heavily regulated, with a list of conditions almost as long as Charles’ arm restricting its use, to be ruled on by Shaw’s lawyer.

But now that Shaw was dead and Erik was in charge of the entire estate, and with Miss Salvadore still extremely unlikely ever to marry, albeit for different reasons, Erik had managed to release the funds from the restriction of their use as a dowry, although what he intended to do with the money he had not said until now.

“I intend to invest some of it and use the income for Miss Salvadore’s comfort,” Erik continued. “It is the least I can do for her.”

“And the rest of it?” Charles asked, sensing there was more.

“That will be invested too,” Erik said. “But not in a business sense. I thought I might use it to start some kind of institution, to assist vulnerable girls like Miss Salvadore. I know it is not possible to prevent it all, but I would like to think that I could stop what happened to her happening to at least a few others.”

“Oh, what a wonderful idea!” Raven exclaimed. “Mr Lehnsherr, you are marvellous!”

Erik looked faintly embarrassed by the effusive praise, and Charles had to hide a smile – and his desire to kiss Erik soundly.

“I had also given some thought to who might run it,” Erik added, somewhat diffidently. “I would need someone sensible, with a good head, but also kind and compassionate.”

“Not qualities to be found in just anyone,” Charles said, although he already had an inkling of who Erik was considering.

So did Raven, it appeared. “What about Moira?” she said. “She would be perfect, and she has already told me that she believes she must find something else to occupy herself with, once I am married. Not that I’d ever wish to lose her, of course.”

“I had thought to ask Miss MacTaggert, yes,” Erik confirmed. “Do you think she would do it?”

“I am sure she would be delighted,” Charles said. “She was also very much affected by Miss Salvadore’s fate.”

“Let’s ask her now!” Raven said quickly. “She can’t possibly say no to me at my own engagement party, after all.”

She was gone instantly, dragging Henry beside her. Charles made to call her back, but Erik stopped him. “Let her go,” he said. “She will probably do a much better job of persuading Miss MacTaggert than I ever could, and besides, it will do no harm. There’s a lot of work to be done before Miss MacTaggert could ever take up the post.”

“I’m sure Moira would be invaluable to you in the setting up of the institution as well,” Charles said. He could not prevent the soft, private smile that lit his face as he gazed at Erik. “Raven is right, you really are marvellous,” he added, and then laughed as he watched Erik splutter with embarrassment again.

George passed with a tray of champagne, and Charles snagged two flutes. He handed one to Erik and then raised his own. “To your new fortune and the good you might do with it.”

Erik dutifully clinked his glass against Charles’, and then waited until Charles was drinking before saying, in a low voice. “There is something else I would much rather toast – you and I.”

Charles didn’t choke on his champagne, but it was a near thing. The intent in Erik’s voice sent a flush of warmth through his entire body, and he was hard pressed to keep his voice steady as he admonished, “Erik, really, what happened to being careful?”

“They are all far too distracted,” Erik said. “And for once I am feeling bold.”

“Then I will be bold likewise,” Charles said, and leaned a little closer to Erik. “Will you stay here tonight?” he asked. “It is too long since I had anything of you but your letters.”

“I will,” Erik replied. “While I have welcomed _your_ letters, they have not been enough. I would have all of you.”

Heat spread through Charles again as they clinked their champagne glasses a second time, sealing their intent.


End file.
